A Simple Mission
by Fear-Of-The-Cold
Summary: Newkirk and LeBeau are sent out on a routine mission that goes awry with dire consequences for the operation. Rated T for some violence and minor swearing. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

A Simple Mission

_Note: I do not own any of these characters. This is my first story, please review, criticism is welcome! More chapters will be posted later on as soon as they are finished._

Newkirk picked his way slowly and quietly through the forest. It wasn't far now, and if he could just make it back to the tunnel, everything would be put right. The Colonel always thought of something, even when all seemed lost.

Above all else, Newkirk knew for sure that without a miracle, everything really would be lost. How could everything fall apart so fast? The worst thing was the others didn't even know about it yet.

Despite the growing danger as he neared Stalag 13, Newkirk quickened his pace as much as he could. The various injuries he had sustained hampered his progress some. This was perhaps the strangest part of his situation: he couldn't remember how these injuries had occurred.

He had long since given up trying to recall any details of what he must have gone through. With his left arm hanging useless at his side and wracked with shooting pains, his right eye swollen almost shut and his back and chest feeling like a division of tanks had driven across it, a person would think he could remember how it had all happened. The last thing he remembered was saying something to Louis, but not for every coin in the world could he remember what it was.

Ducking quickly to avoid the searchlight, Newkirk finally spotted the tree trunk entrance to the emergency tunnel. He eased open the entrance with his good arm and slipped inside. This was more than just a routine mission now. It was a matter of life and death.

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"You'll rendezvous with the agent at the Hofbrau," Colonel Hogan went through his usual mission debriefing," Lebeau, you'll go inside and meet him. Newkirk, I want you to wait out back and keep an eye out for any patrols. Once you make contact LeBeau, make some excuse to go out back and meet Newkirk. The woods shouldn't be a problem, the Gestapo are still investigating that factory in Dusseldorf."

The men were gathered around a map in the tunnels, and allowed themselves a chuckle as they remembered their sabotage work a few days earlier.

"Take him in through the emergency tunnel, we'll be ready for him and Carter and Kinch can send him off to England right away," the Colonel wrapped up neatly.

"That's gonna be a full night's work Colonel," Kinch said, a little nervous.

"But is has to be done," Hogan countered," Thumbelina has information that has to get to London tonight for it to be any use."

"You don't have to worry about us, _Colonel_," smiled LeBeau.

"If this mission was any easier, I'd do it in me sleep sir," Newkirk chimed in.

Hogan rolled up his maps and glanced around at his team. Did they really understand the importance of this mission? This information could be a deciding factor in the Allied war effort, it had to get through. But as he looked into each one of their faces, he knew they understood. They joked and smiled so that their nerves wouldn't get in the way of the mission.

"Alright, get going," Hogan nodded at his men, "And good luck!"

He hoped they wouldn't need it.

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"15 minutes Louis. After that, I'm comin' in."

Lebeau rolled his eyes as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He knew Newkirk worried, much as he tried to hide it, but this mission was almost too simple. In and out, easy as that.

"Don't worry, Pierre. I will be back before you even know I have gone."

With that he left Newkirk and walked across the street to the Hofbrau. The evening air was chilled, and he shivered slightly before slipping through the door.

The pub was busy tonight, almost every table filled with civilians and soldiers alike. He frowned at the carousing and drinking, eyes narrowing. It was only partially his usual revulsion by the boche, but how was he supposed to find Thumbelina in this? He could be anyone. LeBeau moved forward through the crowd, hoping that his contact would reveal himself. Glancing at his watch, he had only 12 minutes before Newkirk came running in to save him.

Something hit his shoulder and he turned towards the bar to see one of the serving girls apologizing as she passed. He waved her off in response, not wanting to reveal his French accent. His German was far from flawless. As he turned to continue his search, a familiar voice caught his ear.

"I remember when I was a girl, Hans, and my father used to tell me all sorts of fairy tales. I heard the Three Bears, Thumbelina, all of them, over and over, but it was never as good as the first telling."

"_Ja_, _fraulein_, I'm sure," came the annoyed response from over the counter.

LeBeau's mouth nearly fell open in shock. He knew that voice! But it couldn't be, she was not supposed to be here, and using a strange codename as well! He looked back at the bar, and sure enough, there she was. Could she be his contact? She had mentioned Thumbelina, and the Three Bears…

Trying to avoid any embarrassment, he did not try to sit on the tall stools, but rather leaned against the counter and spoke in a low voice.

"Excuse me _fraulein_, but I could not help overhearing. My father told me stories as well, but they were mostly about tigers."

Tiger grinned in response.

"Perhaps you would like to discuss it together? Somewhere more private?"

"I believe that would be acceptable."

He allowed Tiger to lead him to a table at the back. She sat down, and leaned in to speak softly.

"It is so good to see one of Papa Bear's men again. I have missed you, working in Paris."

"I would love to sit here and chat, but we have orders to be in and out as quickly as possible. You are Thumbelina? Good. Also if we are not out back in exactly, " he checked his watch once more, " five minutes we will have to explain ourselves to a very angry Englishman."

"Very well, you are right of course."

He stood and stretched to his toes to help her with her jacket.

"Danke," she said, nodding her head for him to lead.

Motioning towards the back, he began leading her out when a sudden quiet came over the pub. He turned to see what he had dreaded, two Gestapo standing in the door way.

"Achtung!"

They were caught.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Note: First off, thank you to everyone who reviewed, and also thank you for the warm welcome! Secondly, this chapter is probably going to raise more questions than it answers so please be patient with me. All (or at least most) will be explained in Chapter 3!_

Descending the ladder with one hand was not an easy task. Newkirk made it to the last few steps before his hand suddenly gave out, landing him flat on the floor. He gave an involuntary cry of pain as the impact sent jolts of pain through his already throbbing back. As he used his good arm to push himself upright, footsteps echoed through the tunnel. He got to his feet just in time to see Colonel Hogan round the last corner.

"Newkirk! What the- How on earth did you get out?"

"Oh thank God- out sir?"

"Out of-" Hogan cut off as he reached the corporal and realized that the Englishman was stooped slightly, and had his head turned as if he was trying to hide something. He grabbed Newkirk's chin and gently turned his head with a sharp intake of breath when he saw Newkirk's swollen right eye. "Never mind, you need to see Wilson."

Intending to help guide the half-blind corporal through the tunnel, the colonel unknowingly grabbed his left arm. Newkirk cried out from the shock of the pain.

"What is it?" Hogan asked, stunned by Newkirk's response.

"It's me arm sir, I think it's broken," he grimaced in pain as he spoke.

Knowing that the stubborn Englishman would never tell him on his own, Hogan asked him directly what other injuries he had.

"Just that my chest and back feel like they've been rolled over by a ruddy freight train."

"Well, that's understandable. Let's get you to Wilson," he turned to start back to the barracks.

"Wait sir! There's somethin' I 'ave to tell you first."

"Whatever it is, it can wait."

"They know everythin' sir. About the operation I mean. It's the Gestapo. They 'ave all our names, codenames, contacts, tunnel locations, the works. They even know 'bout Schultz!"

Newkirk could see that Hogan was shocked, but he also saw a bit of suspicion flash across the Colonel's eyes. He couldn't suspect that he had told the Gestapo? No, the colonel knew him to well. Maybe he thought that the information might be false, or that Newkirk had heard wrong.

"How do they know?"

"Well sir," Newkirk bowed his head, ashamed of his thoughts but trying to be logical about the situation, "I think LeBeau may 'ave cracked. They've got 'im locked up at Gestapo 'eadquarters."

This time Hogan looked as if someone had just told him that Schultz had invented a new German super weapon. It puzzled Newkirk, because surely Hogan had realized what happened when they hadn't returned from the mission?

"I think you had better start from the beginning Newkirk. But walk and talk, we still have to get you to Wilson."

"I was waitin' out back of the 'ofbrau, like you said. I'd told Louis that 'e 'ad fifteen minutes to come out before I was comin' in after 'im…"

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Leaning against the back of the Hofbrau, Newkirk checked his watch. 3 minutes left. Lebeau sure was cutting it close. He threw his cigarette on the ground, putting it out with his heel. Nothing was going to happen, he told himself. Louis would be out here any second, laughing off Newkirk's concern. Then why did he feel the need to run into the pub and check? He was not a superstitious man, but despite its simplicity, he had had a strange feeling about this mission from the start. It made him nervous, just standing there waiting.

He glanced at his watch. Time was up.

Praying that LeBeau had just lost track of time, he eased the back door open and quietly worked his way through the various boxes and kegs. He reached the entrance to the front room when he paused, puzzled. Where before there had been laughter and singing, suddenly there was silence. A chill ran through Newkirk as he peeked around the door to confirm what he already knew was there. He caught one glimpse of the black uniforms escorting LeBeau and a woman outside, before turning back the way he came.

How had they found them? And how had they known exactly who they were looking for? Something was up, but he didn't have time to think what. He had some idea of what went on in Gestapo headquarters, and he would do whatever it took to keep LeBeau out of it. His French friend was tough, but small, and the Gestapo were ruthless.

Poking his head out into the alley, Newkirk saw LeBeau and their contact pass by sandwiched between two guards. He knew that he had only seconds before they were bundled into a car and then far out of his reach. Quietly scurrying to the entrance of the alley, he didn't pause to assess the situation, but seized his chance. He leapt from his hiding spot, tackling LeBeau's Gestapo handler to the ground.

"Louis, get-"

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Slowly, Newkirk came back to reality. He didn't open his eyes at first, but took inventory of what he felt around him. Mainly it was all cold, hard, wet rock. His bunk at the Stalag was a feather bed compared to wherever he was now. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out his left arm to push himself upright. He didn't get far before his eyes flew open in pain. Or rather, one eye flew open; the other seemed unable to do so. He reached with his other arm, and pushed himself to a sitting position.

What the bloody hell had happened to him? One eye was swollen tight, he was quite sure his arm was broken, and he could almost feel bruises forming all over his chest and back. He tried to remember what happened, but all he could think of was yelling for LeBeau to-what?

Suddenly Newkirk remembered. The Gestapo had caught Louis, and he had tried to free him, and then-nothing. One last yell to LeBeau, and that was it. He couldn't remember if he had succeeded in freeing the Frenchman, or even receiving these injuries. A man would think he'd remember breaking his arm!

Looking around himself, he found no clues there. It was the same dingy alley way where he had waited for LeBeau, only now it was lit by the light of morning. Strange that the colonel hadn't found him yet, this should have been the first place he looked.

Using his good arm, Newkirk pushed himself to his feet determinedly. Obviously something was stopping the colonel from coming, or he'd have been here by now. This meant that LeBeau's only hope-and the underground agent's of course- now rested on his shoulders.

Brushing off his dirty civvies as best he could, he trotted down the alley and turned towards the building that he knew to be Gestapo headquarters. It was a long walk across town, especially as he had to continually dodge the German soldiers that prowled the streets. Eventually, he reached the building he sought. To the casual observer, it appeared impregnable. Newkirk, however, was inside and undetected within minutes.

The easiest way to find Louis, or course, was to check the kraut's records and find out where they'd put him. Being the nimble-fingered pick pocket that he is, Newkirk figured it shouldn't be too difficult to swipe a few papers in spite of his bad arm. He headed for the main office, but had to dodge into the nearest room when a group of Gestapo men led by Major Hochstetter himself marched down the hallway. With his hand on to head back out, he paused as he heard a voice behind him.

"I cannot wait to see Hochstetter's face when we deliver Papa Bear!"

Newkirk froze. It couldn't be. LeBeau had only been here a few hours at most, they couldn't have cracked him yet! He silently crept over to the slightly open door from which the voice had come.

"Yes, this will get us our promotions for sure Franz," said a slightly nasal voice.

"And Hochstetter's undoing at last!" Franz giggled gleefully, "His 'evidence' was hearsay at best. But this is gold! Look, Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe, United States Army, chief or operations and specializing in communications. Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter, United States Air Force, demolition expert. Corporal Louis LeBeau, Free French Air Force, gourmet chef. And Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF, forger, tailor, safecracker and pickpocket."

With every name, Newkirk sank lower and lower to the ground. This couldn't be happening, this could not be happening.

"And of course," the nasal voice chimed in, "We can not forget Papa Bear himself. Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Air Corps."

"Hochstetter was right all along," Franz laughed, "Even about Klink and that sergeant. They may not be collaborators, but their stupidity will get them arrested anyways. It will be the finest day of our careers when we march into Stalag 13 and put them all in chains!"

"Yes, and dig up all tunnels that the Major never seemed able to find."

"After we pick up their contacts here in Hammelburg, we will be promoted for sure!"

"As long as we keep Hochstetter out of it. If he even catches a hint of our plans, he'll take all the credit for himself."

"Yes, no one can know until it is all over. We can not risk interference."

"Until this afternoon then."

Newkirk scampered out of the way as the two men strode out of the room. As soon as they were out of sight, he took off, leaving the building even faster than he had entered. His feet hit the street and he ran off down the alley before a memory brought him to a sudden halt. They still had Louis in there, if he was still alive after what they must have put him through. He couldn't just leave him there. But neither could he abandon his other friends back at the Stalag to the Gestapo men that would be descending on them in only a few hours. How could he weigh one friendship over the other?

He stared at the wall of the building, working through his thoughts. After a while, he sighed. There was really only one thing he could do. Hating himself as he did so, he turned and headed for Stalag 13. Desperation drove him on as he prayed that the colonel would know what to do. He had no other hope to hold on to.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: Sorry this update took so long, RL went crazy busy for while there. This chapters a bit longer, and I lied a bit when I said it explained everything! It may not do much_ _to move the plot along, but the Newkirk/LeBeau interaction was just to fun to write. As always, please read and review. Enjoy! _

"Not much to say after that," Newkirk wrapped up, "Made my way back 'ere quick as I could manage."

By this time they had reached the end of the tunnel. Newkirk eyed the ladder wearily, preparing himself for the one-armed struggle up to the barracks. Hogan's hand on his arm, however, pulled him to a stop when he headed towards it.

"Newkirk," Hogan began gently, "There are some gaping holes in that story."

"I know Guv'. There's a huge one in my memory."

"No, there's another one. Wait here, and take a seat."

Hogan climbed the ladder and stuck his head up into the barracks. Newkirk couldn't help feeling safer when he heard Kinch's calm voice drift down into the tunnel.

"What is it Colonel?"

"Carter, Kinch, find Wilson and get him down here. LeBeau, come downstairs."

Newkirk had been in the process of sitting down, but when he heard that name, the foot locker nearly slipped out from under him. Could it be?

Nothing in the world could have made him happier than when he saw the Colonel's brown cap followed by a red cap and scarf. He didn't know how it was possible, but he scarcely spared a thought for that. All that mattered was that Louis was here, right in front of him, alive and well.

"Louis!" he grinned as his friend turned to face him.

"Pierre!" LeBeau's eyes went wide with shock, then joy, then back to shock again as he took in Newkirk's injuries.

Louis jumped forward to embrace the Englishman, but only gently when his friend grimaced. After that the two corporals both started talking at once.

"What has happened to you?"

"Cor blimey, you gave me a scare!"

"We thought you had died!"

" 'Ow did you get out?"

"How did you escape?"

Despite still grinning, they looked at each other oddly.

"What are you talkin' about Louis?"

Remembering the Colonel's words, Newkirk's relief and joy were put on hold by his confusion.

"I could say the same thing mon ami," LeBeau's wide, open features were now pulled down into a puzzled frown, "Where did I have to get out from?"

"Well, Ge-" Suddenly unsure of himself, Newkirk faltered. "They caught you didn't they? You and the girl, and they took you to Gestapo 'ead quarters..."

He trailed off uncertainly. Why did he suddenly feel like he was going to be sick? Resisting the temptation to put his hands to his stomach, he took a deep breath. He hadn't felt this at all the whole time he had been trekking through the woods with a broken arm and swollen eye, but just thinking about the Gestapo had made him weak in the knees.

"Newkirk?"

"Pierre, are you listening?"

With effort he pulled himself back to the scene around him. While he had been concentrating on keeping his stomach where it belonged, he had been vaguely aware of Hogan and LeBeau's conversation.

"Sorry Guv'nor. What were you saying?"

"I was just thinking that maybe if LeBeau told you what happened after you helped them escape, it might jog your memory."

"After I did what sir?"

Hogan frowned. It was obvious he hadn't realized that Newkirk hadn't been paying attention. LeBeau jumped in, unnerved by his friend's apparent memory loss, but determined not to show it.

"You helped us escape from the Gestapo after they caught us in the Hofbrau!"

Newkirk shook his head despondently.

"I remember tryin' to 'elp you, but then the next thing I can remember is wakin' up in that alley feelin' like I'd been beat 'alf to death."

LeBeau's face went starkly white. To Newkirk it seemed as though the Frenchman was barely controlling himself from exploding in anger. What had brought this on? After a few seconds however, LeBeau's face relaxed.

"Filthy bosche," he muttered.

"Maybe you had better start from the beginning LeBeau," Hogan asked, hoping that this would help the increasingly confused Englishman.

"Very well. The Gestapo men picked Tiger and I out of the crowd immediately. They assigned a guard to each of us and marched us outside. We were to be taken up the road to a car, but as we passed the alley..."

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"Louis get the other one!"

LeBeau couldn't hide his shock. One moment they were Gestapo prisoners, destined for torture and likely death, the next moment Newkirk came flying in from nowhere giving them a chance at freedom. Crazy Englishman.

As soon as Newkirk knocked his Gestapo handler's arms off him, LeBeau moved swiftly. Before Tiger's guard had a chance to react, the Frenchman knocked him to the ground and pulled the man's own gun on him. His own guard now lay unconscious at Newkirk's feet.

"Put 'is lights out Louis," Newkirk wiped away the small trickle of blood coming from his split lip, "We 'ave to get movin' before more come."

Nodding agreement, LeBeau brought the gun down sharply on the man's head. He straightened up as Newkirk bent to retrieve his man's gun.

"Are you alright Tiger? Not hurt?"

"Oui, I am fine," she smiled reassuringly.

"Tiger?" Newkirk turned from scavenging the Gestapo's weaponry, "Blimey, is it you? Well come on then, we 'ave to get back to Stalag 13 before the front desk closes or they won't take our reservation!"

LeBeau rolled his eyes. Whenever there was a woman around, his friend's witty side became even more prominent than usual. Tiger, however, didn't seem to mind as she smiled before following Newkirk down the next alley. LeBeau scrambled after them, keeping an eye over his shoulder for Gestapo pursuers.

The trio passed through town almost without incident. A few times they had to duck out of sight from a patrol, but they reached the edge of town without being spotted. As the group slipped into the shadows of the last building though, Tiger spotted a problem.

"Look there," she whispered, pointing to the road, "They have roadblocks in place. We were lucky to avoid the patrols in town; will we be so lucky in the woods?"

"We'll 'ave to chance it luv," Newkirk sighed with frustration, "It's the only way back to camp if we want to make it there tonight."

When Tiger looked away to scout out their path, LeBeau exchanged a worried glance with Newkirk. The patrols would be thick; they had taken too long to get out of town. Any other day they would try to make contact with the underground and stay with them until the danger had passed, or allow themselves to be recaptured and taken back to Stalag 13. But the Colonel had said this information had to get to London tonight.

The two corporals nodded in understanding. For the most part, this job really wasn't that dangerous. Their operations were well hidden, the time spent out of camp was minimal, and the Colonel looked after them. What they did was vital and LeBeau knew it, but often it seemed like the war they fought here was altogether different from the one being fought in the skies and on the beaches. When moments like this one came, however, he had to remember why he was here: to lay down his life for his country if necessary. Because there was a very real chance that he might do so tonight.

For Newkirk and him, that was it. No fond farewells, no "It was nice knowing you", just that simple nod that acknowledged the price and agreed to pay it. They knew each other to well to need anything else.

"Let's go."

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"Louis, in 'ere!"

LeBeau ran like he never had before as he tore after Newkirk's voice. Spotting the old barn, he slipped inside as the Englishman slammed the door after him. As soon as the door shut, he sank to the floor with exhaustion. He saw with relief that Tiger was standing by the opposite wall, but cursed when he heard the dogs barking from the woods. Newkirk echoed his sentiments.

"Bloody hell," he breathed heavily, "I never...expected them...to be onto us...so fast."

He knelt down next to LeBeau, and Tiger crossed the room to do the same. Despite the exhausting run, she breathed steadily.

"What do we do now?" she asked anxiously, "It won't take them long to figure out where we have gone, and once they do we will have no chance at all!"

Newkirk sighed and stood up, having caught his breath.

"There's really only one thing we can do," he grimaced determinedly.

"No Pierre!" LeBeau forced out with the little breath he had.

"I'm not arguing with you Louis," Newkirk said, giving LeBeau a hard look.

"Neither am I," Newkirk had never been able to quell LeBeau with one of his looks as he did other people, "We go all together, or not at all."

Tiger simply looked at Newkirk, her face expressionless.

"Look, if this information is as important as the Colonel says it is, then it 'as to get through," Newkirk said firmly, "Whether it's brought in by two of us or three or even one makes no difference."

"It makes a difference to me!"

LeBeau had moved so that he was right under Newkirk's nose.

"Louis," the Englishman placed his hands on his French friend's shoulders, "We both knew when we entered this war there was a chance we wouldn't be making it back."

He pulled LeBeau a little further away from Tiger and lowered his voice.

"When we left town, we were ready to die to get the message through. Why is it different now?"

"Because I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself for us!"

LeBeau could not believe this. He had always thought of Newkirk as more of a "self-preservation" type. But then he thought, wouldn't he do the same for Newkirk? It didn't change anything, he decided.

"Louis, there's no other way."

"There is always another way!" he spat back, shaking off the Englishman's hands and turning away. He heard Newkirk sigh, and then move to stand by Tiger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other corporal bend to kiss Tiger's cheek.

"Keep 'im safe," Newkirk whispered, "Wait two minutes, then 'ead out the back."

Tiger nodded, and LeBeau and Newkirk moved at the same moment. Both of them dashed for the door, one to slam it closed, and the other to wrench it open. Newkirk reached it first and pulled it wide with a quick yank. LeBeau reached through the doorway to pull him back, but Newkirk, nimble as ever, slipped through his outstretched fingers.

As he made to follow the Englishman, he felt a pair of surprisingly strong hands holding him back.

"He only does his duty," came Tiger's soft voice, "Would you dishonour him by disregarding his wishes?"

LeBeau's shoulders slumped, and he sighed with sadness and regret.

"He is a better man than I."

Tiger's hands spun him slowly to face her, and then she hugged him, embracing his loss as her own. As they broke apart, he avoided her gaze. Tears had gathered in his eyes, and as he turned from her he wiped them off his cheek.

"We should go," he pried the back door open and almost ran out of the barn.

Tiger followed, but just before she stepped into the open, she turned to look back into the dark building.

"Thank you," she whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: Not much action in this chapter either, I'm afraid, but don't worry! Chapter 5 is done, I just have to type it up and it has enough action to make up for the lack in this chapter. A little LeBeau-Hogan interaction here, please stay tuned for Chp. 5!_

"There wasn't a single patrol blocking our way back," LeBeau's voice dropped solemnly, "But we heard gunshots, and we assumed that...that..."

Choking up a little, LeBeau trailed off and Newkirk placed his good hand on his friend's shoulder. The Frenchman sniffed loudly. Hogan remained silent from the spot on the floor he had claimed as his own.

"Carter did not believe it for a moment," LeBeau managed a grin, "He knew you would get away from those pigs!"

Newkirk smiled, but only halfheartedly. The initial gladness at seeing LeBeau again had passed, and he had started to think. So LeBeau had not been captured by the Gestapo as he had thought. He and Tiger made it safely back to the Stalag and had been there ever since. But while he now knew where LeBeau had been, where had he, Newkirk, been? LeBeau had heard shots, but he obviously hadn't died. Suddenly Newkirk's thoughts stopped dead. Could it be that-

His thoughts were interrupted by Wilson's arrival from upstairs. The medic grinned widely when he spotted Newkirk.

"Newkirk! You made it! Not that I ever thought you wouldn't, I know how tough you English are!"

The American's obvious delight at seeing him distracted Newkirk from the dark turn his thoughts had been taking.

"Not feelin' to well at the moment mate," he replied as cheerily as he could.

"I can see that now," Wilson's tone became more serious as he moved closer and took a good look at Newkirk's injuries.

"Get him cleaned up Wilson," Colonel Hogan broke his contemplative silence, "Then find him somewhere to get some rest. That's an order Newkirk. LeBeau, I want to talk to you in my office."

"Yes sir," Wilson immediately knelt beside Newkirk and began examining his face.

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LeBeau closed the door behind him as he followed the colonel into his quarters. Hogan's desire for privacy puzzled him. Their little group had always shared everything; it's what brought them closer together. What did Hogan have to say that couldn't be heard by the others?

Throwing his cap on the bunk, Hogan leaned on his desk and ran his hand over his head. Obviously something was troubling him deeply. But what? The situation with Newkirk was strange, yes, but he should at least be happy that Newkirk had found his way back.

"Lebeau, before you came down to the tunnel," Hogan began abruptly, "Newkirk told me that he had been to Gestapo headquarters and overheard two officers talking about a sabotage and espionage operation based in Stalag 13 and run by Papa Bear. They had names of every man involved and maps of the tunnel system and they are coming here this afternoon to make the arrests."

For a moment, LeBeau's body didn't acknowledge the shock except for the breath that had caught in his throat. Then his knees suddenly buckled and he grabbed the colonel's desk for support.

"C'est impossible," he exhaled, "How could this have happened?"

"That's the other thing," Hogan turned from his desk and let himself collapse onto the bunk, "Newkirk went to Gestapo headquarters because he believed that they were holding you there. When he heard that they knew all about us, he thought you had cracked under torture."

LeBeau had been halfway to sitting on the floor, but sudden anger pushed him back to his feet.

"How could he think that?" LeBeau almost yelled, "I would never betray my friends, or my country! Not if they beat me senseless, chopped off my arms and dragged me down the road on my face!"

"Easy LeBeau!" startled by the outburst, Hogan tried to quiet the Frenchman before the rest of the men came running in, but he was hard to stop once he got started, "Enough LeBeau! That's an order."

Hogan breathed a sigh of relief when the corporal stopped shouting and simply stood there fuming. Not that it mattered much, the colonel thought ruefully, this next bit was likely to set him off again.

"It made sense to him LeBeau. He thought you were in a cell somewhere below him, it was only logical of him to assume that's where they got their information from."

LeBeau made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as he leaned back against the desk. The colonel may just shrug it off, but it was no easy thing to have his integrity questioned by a man he considered a friend and would trust with his life.

"How do you think they received the information then...sir?"

Suddenly unsure of his decision to tell LeBeau his suspicions, Hogan paused. The Frenchman was incredibly emotional, as he had just proved. He was liable to break something when he heard what Hogan had to say next. As a precaution, he asked LeBeau to sit on the bunk as well. The corporal did so, but, still angry, looked straight ahead determinedly.

"Only one other man with that information has been outside the wire," Hogan began, and LeBeau's head whipped around immediately. It amazed Hogan sometimes at how quickly LeBeau could catch on to these things, "Only one other man that the Gestapo had access to."

"Non Colonel!" LeBeau protested, "They never caught him."

"He's been missing for three days!" Hogan shot back harshly, "Three days after you saw him practically run into Gestapo hands. I'm not buying that he could simply forget three whole days."

LeBeau's shock registered all over his face. His mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were round. How could the colonel say something like that about Newkirk? Newkirk, who had risked his life for every single one of them time and time again. Perhaps it had made sense for Newkirk to suspect him, but this was beyond senseless. They had thought the Englishman was dead, and now that he came back not just alive but warning them of potential disaster, the colonel suspected him of betrayal? The incredulity of the situation snapped LeBeau's self control.

"How can you say that?" he leaped to his feet and whirled to face Hogan, "You think that after everything he has done, after everything he has gone through, that not only would he betray us, but he would lie?"

"LeBeau, calm-"

"I will not calm down!" He threw his beret to the ground in anger, "He went out there to save me! He went out there for you, and the mission, and all he gets in return is suspicion and ingratitude!"

Hogan had planned on letting the Frenchman wind himself down-there was no helping the others hearing now- but after a few minutes with no sign of stopping, he put an end to the tirade. Knowing how LeBeau would resent him for this, he stood up to face the other man.

"That's enough corporal!" he hated pulling rank, but this furious monologue was getting them nowhere.

On the outside, LeBeau stopped, but inside he still seethed in anger.

"Look, I don't like this anymore than you do," Hogan switched to a softer, yet still stern tone, "But we have to face facts. No one else could have given the Gestapo that intimate of information. I know you don't want to believe it. It's just the only explanation."

Abruptly the fight seemed to slip out of the little Frenchman, and he sank back down to the Colonel's bunk. Hogan picked up the beret and sat down next to LeBeau, silently playing with the hat as LeBeau worked through his thoughts.

"I don't believe it Colonel," LeBeau's voice was quiet now, "I understand your point, but I just can't believe it."

"Everyone has a breaking point LeBeau. Even East End toughs."

"Yes sir, but I don't think Newkirk does, at least not for physical pain. He does not show it often, but I know he would lay his life down for his friends. They could beat him till he died, he wouldn't tell them anything."

"You don't know that," Hogan hated it, but he had to play devil's advocate.

"Maybe not sir, but do you really think he would crack under so little? He is hurt, yes, but nothing permanent and nothing like the others we have seen come out of Gestapo headquarters."

"Okay, let's say he didn't tell them anything. That still doesn't explain how he got out or what he's been doing for the past few days."

"It doesn't make a difference to me sir," LeBeau's voice quavered a little, "Because I can't believe it. It's not simply that I don't want to. I just cannot, because if it is true, that means it's my fault."

On the word "fault", LeBeau's voice broke and he hung his head. Hogan placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

"It was Newkirk's choice to go out there. He did what he felt to be his duty, and you did yours. You can't blame yourself for that."

"Now you sound like Tiger," LeBeau chuckled, sniffing.

"Speaking of, I need to make sure she made it to London alright," Hogan stood up and turned back to face LeBeau. Their discussion had shown him not only how wrong he had been, but how little he knew about the friendship between the two corporals. He had to make amends.

"For right now, it doesn't matter if Newkirk did or didn't say anything. I'll get Kinch to radio London, and then we'll figure out what to do about these Gestapo goons. You're right LeBeau, Newkirk wouldn't lie to us about something like this. He would never betray us willingly. You shouldn't have had to point that out to me, and I apologize for that."

"There is no need Colonel," embarrassed, LeBeau waved off Hogan's apology, "I understand that you must look at this neutrally, and it looks very bad for Pierre right now."

"Well, we'll figure everything out eventually. Come on, we need to get to work if these Gestapo men are showing up this afternoon."

The French corporal followed Hogan out of the office, glad that the Colonel had seemingly forgiven Newkirk. However, he couldn't help but remember Hogan had used the word "willingly". His friend was not out of hot water yet.


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: Here it is, Chapter 5! Probably my favourite chapter so far, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! I might not be able to update for a while, I'm really busy for the next little bit, but I'll try not to keep you waiting to long, especially after this chapter. Please read and review!_

LeBeau scrutinized the building carefully. As he did so he pulled at the collar of his German uniform. How on earth did the boche wear these things day after day? They scratched terribly.

With one last hard look, he turned and walked back down the alley to rejoin his comrades. At first, he couldn't spot them, Hogan and Carter's black uniforms blended to well with the dark alley. The red arm bands gave them away though.

"Two guards on the door Colonel," he reported, "They should not be a problem."

Hogan nodded in acknowledgment, but did nothing else to break his concentration. This mission had to be perfect, there was no other option. At least, not one he could consider now. They had made their decision back at camp.

"_Basically we have two options: them or us. It's us, and we leave now before they can get here, or it's them, and we silence them before they can get to us. I'm sure you already know which I would prefer, but it is the more dangerous way, especially if we fail."_

"_You know where I stand sir," Kinch was rock solid as always._

"_You can count me in boy...I mean sir," was Carter's classic reply._

"_I as well Colonel," LeBeau's answer was more solemn than usual._

"_Me to sir, for what it's worth," Newkirk's usually late reply was last, but followed LeBeau's much quicker than was normal._

Hogan had been glad the others had so readily accepted his decision. As much as they wanted to go home, he knew that they would stick by him till the end. What had surprised him was how quickly Newkirk had agreed. Usually the Englishman was the last to volunteer for a dangerous mission, but he had been just as quick as the rest this time. Why? Was he feeling guilty?

No, he had promised himself he wouldn't go there, at least until after they completed the mission. He hated having to suspect one of his own men, but he had a responsibility.

Glancing over at Newkirk now, Hogan almost regretted bringing him along. If the corporal had looked like death walking when he got back to camp, he now looked like he was death's second cousin. The hour or so of rest had done little for his health. Unfortunately it couldn't be helped; Newkirk was the only one who could identify these Gestapo.

"Alright, let's move," he straightened his cap, "Newkirk, you ready?"

"As ever sir," Newkirk stood up from the garbage bin, not bothering to dust off his already filthy civvies.

Motioning Carter and LeBeau to take up their positions to either side of Newkirk, Hogan moved in to his own position out front. He checked the street, and was unsurprised to see it was empty. Few people loitered around the Gestapo.

The group strode out of the alley, quickly assuming a stance that suggested they had been there all along. Marching straight up to the doors, Hogan returned the salute of the young guards.

"Captain Hoganheim, with a prisoner for interrogation," Hogan said in German, speaking slowly with a just passable accent.

Looking over Hogan's shoulder at the dishevelled Englishman, the guard grinned wickedly.

"Looks like you have already started, Herr Captain."

Hogan smiled tightly, seething inside at the man's obvious delight in Newkirk's pain. Still chuckling, the guard moved aside and the group stepped through the doorway. The front office was quiet; the only sound was the scratching of a pen.

The man at the front desk looked up as they entered. He looked bored, and waved them on after asking for Hogan's name. As they entered the main part of the building, they saw more and more black-uniformed Gestapo men.

The entrance to the prison cells was at the back of the building. Their plan was to walk through the main hall as if they were headed for the cells, peeking into each office as they went with the pretence of looking for a Captain Carterberg who they had heard was in the building. One by one, they made their way down the hall. None of the offices contained the men they were looking for.

After Newkirk shook his head to the last office, Hogan sighed in frustration. They had to find these men!

"Are you sure you never heard their names?" he asked exasperatedly.

"It's like I told you sir, one called the other Franz, but that's all," Newkirk's tone was bored, but with a tight edge that indicated his own growing desperation.

"Hey, what's in here?"

Carter was examining a door that led off the hallway. Unlike the other offices, there were no titles or signs indicating where the door might lead to. But when Newkirk turned to look, something clicked.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, "That's the room I 'id in when 'ochstetter went by. I was on my way to the cell blocks..."

"You're sure?"

"Positive sir."

"Alright, Carter, LeBeau, back in position. When we go in, let me do the talking. I'm gonna turn back to you Newkirk, nod if they're our men. Ready?"

The three men nodded in unison. Hogan stepped through the door to what appeared to be an outer office. It was empty.

"Through the next door sir. That's where they were last time."

All four took a deep breath as they crossed the room and Hogan pulled open the door. Inside, two Gestapo captains looked up, startled.

"Afternoon, Heil Hitler," Hogan saluted.

The two men responded in kind, if puzzled.

"I have brought the prisoner as requested," as he said this, Hogan turned his head to look at Newkirk. The Englishman gave a sharp nod, his face tight.

"I do not recall making such a request," the darker haired man sounded concerned.

As the two looked at each other to exchange questioning glances, Carter and LeBeau moved past Hogan to place their guns to each man's temple. Both men froze.

"Sit down, Captain," LeBeau's sarcastic, heavily accented German cut the silence.

They immediately sank to the floor. Almost nonchalantly, Hogan strode over to lean against the wall. Weapons still trained on the men's heads, Carter and LeBeau turned their captives to face him.

"You have some information regarding Stalag 13," Hogan tossed his own gun back and forth as he spoke. He refused to show the tension he felt, "I require you to hand it over to me. For your sakes, I hope you have not revealed it to anyone."

All of Hogan's men held their breath. This entire mission operated on the idea that these Gestapo men really were the greedy bastards Newkirk said they were. If they had told someone, then the mission became too risky and they shipped out for London immediately. As long as the situation remained isolated, they still had a chance.

"We have told no one, Herr Captain," the other, red-headed man exclaimed eagerly in a nasal voice, eying the gun next to his eye, "I swear it!"

The relief in the room was palpable as each man let out the breath he had been holding. Newkirk moved from where he had been standing at the door to leaning against the wall next to Carter. He fidgeted as he tried to find a comfortable position, finally able to relax a little after learning that they still had a chance to salvage this mess.

"Very good," Hogan dropped the phony German voice, "That makes our job much easier."

"But, but," the nasally man spluttered, "You are an American!"

"One in every crowd," Hogan replied dryly, "I'm gonna make this simple. You are going to tell us where and how you got this information. You don't, we kill you now. You do, and we may wait until tomorrow."

"We will not tell you anything!" the red-haired German's voice was shaking slightly.

The other man eyed Hogan thoughtfully. At the sound of movement just beside him, his head turned instinctively. Carter pressed the gun into the man's forehead to make him turn back, but the man's suspicions had been confirmed and he was now grinning cruelly. Hogan spotted this and looked warily at the other man.

"I will tell you," the man smiled confidently.

"Franz you fool!" the other snapped angrily, "He'll kill us whatever we tell him!"

"Be quiet," Franz's voice was annoyed, but it didn't keep him from continuing to grin maniacally, "I will tell you anything you wish to know...Papa Bear."

Hogan cursed inwardly, shocked. How did the man know? Newkirk had said they had names, but nothing about pictures. Giving a sharp look to Carter, whose mouth had fallen open in surprise, Hogan hid his own disbelief and stared back at the man coolly.

"Alright then. Tell us. Where did you get your information?"

Franz's grin expanded to an increasingly disturbing leer. The other man had lost some of his fear after Franz's announcement, and he too had begun to smile.

"Why are you asking me Colonel Hogan?" the man stared defiantly at the American, "Why don't you ask your friend Corporal Newkirk? He can tell you everything you want to know."

No longer heeding Carter's gun on his temple, Franz turned his head and attention to Newkirk now. It was the corporal who had attracted his attention with his constant fidgeting, and he focussed in on him.

"He certainly told us everything we needed to know."

There was a collective pause as the rest of the room took in this statement. Newkirk and Franz were locked eye to eye, both frozen with tension. Hogan had frozen as well, but from the effort of hiding his mixed emotions. Carter's mouth had fallen open again, his gun no longer trained to Franz's forehead, but dropped halfway to his side.

Newkirk felt stung. The man must be lying. Of course he was lying. Newkirk would have remembered something like that. He was lying to try to confuse them and save his own skin. And yet...there were so many missing hours that he didn't remember. No, there was no way. He would die before he betrayed his mates. But would they believe that? He had always made himself out to be the "lone wolf", the one who looked out for himself and himself only. Not true of course. His mates were his family, but he would never show it. They would know anyway though, wouldn't they?

It was LeBeau who broke the silence. Pushing aside the other Gestapo man, he walked straight up to Franz and promptly punched him in the face.

"Filthy bosche!" he screamed at the fallen Gestapo man, "Filthy bosche and filthy lies!"

"Easy LeBeau," Hogan's hands on his shoulders pulled the little Frenchman back.

"He is lying mon Colonel! I do not believe him!"

"Colonel," Newkirk broke his silence, hiding his fears behind a mask of confidence, "You know I'd never tell them anythin'."

Hogan moved LeBeau gently back to stand beside the other Gestapo man before turning to Newkirk. The Englishman's eyes showed his fear, even if his face did not. But was he afraid that Hogan would believe a lie, or afraid that he would find out the truth?

He cursed under his breath. Whatever the truth was, he had to know. Despite Newkirk's denial, it was the only solution that made sense. How else could the man know who they were? It was only after he noticed Newkirk that he had recognized them.

Taking a few steps forward, Hogan pressed his gun into Franz's forehead.

"Explain," Hogan's voice was deadly cold.

"With pleasure Colonel," Franz's voice dripped with sadistic pleasure, "We caught him in the woods, just three nights ago. We thought we were chasing the Frenchman, so he was a pleasant surprise. You see, we've been building our case against you for some time. We knew there was an Englander working for you, but every Englishman we captured and broke was the wrong one. This one, though, we had special hopes for.

"We had to let our regular interrogators have their chance with him first of course. The evidence of that encounter is quite plain. Then, just yesterday, we had our turn."

Newkirk was shaking, his eyes closed. The world around him seemed to cease to exist. He couldn't feel the floor beneath his feet and his heartbeat seemed unnaturally loud. It was just like back in the tunnel, but worse, much worse. He felt as though he was slipping away, but then he heard something.

"Hey Newkirk! Peter!"

"Pierre stop it!"

"Stop messing around Newkirk!"

He tried to bring himself back, to reach out to his friends, but then his weak hold on reality was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

The three Allies gathered around their fallen friend, momentarily forgetting the two Gestapo men. Carter, the closest, had caught the Englishman before he hit the ground and now held his limp body in his arms. Leaning over him, Hogan and LeBeau called the corporal's name again and again. After a few moments the Frenchman grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him in frustration.

"That is enough Pierre!" he yelled, panicking slightly, "Wake up now!"

"I doubt he will wake," Franz spoke up, but his voice came from the doorway, "At least, not until he is ready. It would seem he is going into some type of shock. Pity, I wanted him to see this."

All three men looked up simultaneously. While they had been occupied by Newkirk, the two other men had moved to open the door. They stood there now, but they had been joined by two guards armed with machine guns pointed straight at the three men. Placing his own gun slowly on the floor, Hogan motioned for the others to do the same. The captors had now become the captives.

"That's right Hogan," Franz grinned with open amusement, "Not so confident now are we? I apologise that my men did not arrive sooner, but you see, we were not expecting you to walk in the front door. I must say, you have a tailor of impressive talent, those uniforms are incredible replicas!"

"That tailor is unconscious at the moment, and something tells me it's because of you!" Hogan shot back, angry at the man's bravado, "What did you mean, you were expecting us?"

"Why don't you ask your man there, if he ever wakes up?" Franz was almost laughing now, "After all, we couldn't have done it without him. And you'll have plenty of time to talk about it while you await your trial."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're at least pretending to have trials now," Hogan spat out, almost quivering with anger now, "Will the firing squad be directly after, or are you the type to drag it out?"

Finally letting out his laughter, Franz turned to the guards.

"Take the Colonel and his men to their cell," he ordered, still chuckling.

"One cell, Herr Captain?"

"Yes, I think they have some things they would like to discuss, and I would hate to leave Corporal Newkirk alone in his condition."

As the guards rounded up the men, Carter and LeBeau tucked their shoulders under Newkirk's arms to carry him out of the room. It was clear the man would not wake up enough to leave the room under his own power. Turning the corner outside of the room, they headed downstairs and were unceremoniously left in a surprisingly large but damp cell. Carter and LeBeau placed Newkirk gently down on the only bunk, and all three men gathered around him.

"Come on Pierre, wake up!" LeBeau pleaded.

The Englishman's mouth hung slightly open, his eyes shut and his face slack. Carter shook his friend's shoulders slightly, but there was no response.

"Aw Newkirk," Carter sat back, disappointed, "Where are ya buddy?"

Hogan didn't try to wake the English corporal, but leaned back against the cell wall. He didn't know where Newkirk's mind was, but he had a feeling it wasn't anywhere close to the cell his body was in. Something told him that Newkirk would come back on his own and not before. He could only hope that he would regain consciousness before the Gestapo returned.

As it happens, Hogan was wrong. Newkirk's mind was actually quite close to his body, right next door in fact. The corporal twitched in his unconscious state as his mind began to remember what it had thought permanently stored away.

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Newkirk slumped down to the floor of his cell, a small moan of pain escaping his lips as he did so. Leaning his head back against the wall, he grimaced when a trickle of blood leaked from his swollen eyelid. He raised one hand to wipe it away, leaving the other tucked into his side for fear of injuring it further.

Two days he had been here in this Gestapo hellhole. Two days since he left LeBeau and Tiger in the old farmhouse and ran out to what he thought would be his death. The Germans had other ideas however, and he found himself in their hands now. He hadn't left the cell since he arrived, nor had he eaten or drank anything. But every few hours, one or two black-uniformed krauts would come through the door and begin "interrogating" him. Also known as beating the living shit out of him. He endured it though. They would never get anything out of him, so sooner or later either Hogan and the others would rescue him or these Gestapo goons would just have to kill him.

Now that the men had left, he should be able to catch a few hours of shuteye before they returned. Just as his eyes were about to close however, he heard the cell door open.

"Back already?" Newkirk yawned defiantly, "And 'ere I thought you goons 'ad finally learned some manners."

He glanced up to see who it was this time, and what kind of punishment they were likely to dish out. The two men were dressed in perfectly pressed Captains uniforms. To his surprise, neither was among his previous tormentors.

"Very amusing, Corporal," one of the men said, face unsmiling, his voice a high-pitched whine, "I must say I find it impressive that you still find it within your capabilities to make jokes."

"Don't worry about me," Newkirk scoffed, "I've 'ad worse than this fallin' out of bed."

The other man simply smiled unnervingly back at him. Newkirk was beginning to feel nervous about whatever these two had in store for him. All of the others had come in with fists and questions flying, but these two merely stood there a moment before calling a guard to bring chairs. Not only that, but how did the man know his rank? He had been caught in his civilian clothes, and he had left his dog tags back at the Stalag.

Both sat down facing Newkirk. He remained where he was, using the wall as support for his tired head.

"You look nervous Corporal," the other man spoke for the first time, "You needn't worry. We don't want to hurt you."

"It's a little late for that I think," Newkirk snapped, turning his head so that his bulging eye became even more apparent.

"That was not our fault," the nasal man tried to sound reassuring, "We want to help you. This torture you are enduring, it will not end until you give them what they want. And you don't need to fear them killing you, they are far too careful for that. Again and again, they will bring you an inch away from your breaking point until finally you can't take it anymore. Wouldn't you like to avoid all that?"

"You're barking mad, you are," Newkirk retorted sharply, "Especially if you think I'll fall for that drivel. Maybe I'd be 'elping myself, but I wouldn't be 'elping the ones I sold out, now would I?"

The two men shook their heads simultaneously.

"No, no, you misunderstood me Corporal," the nasally man smiled softly, "We don't want you to betray your friends. There would be no need, seeing as how we already know all about Papa Bear. Colonel Hogan to you, of course."

It took an enormous amount of willpower for Newkirk to keep his jaw from dropping. As it was, his eyes went wide and his breath caught.

"And let us not forget the others. LeBeau isn't it? And Carter and Kinchloe?"

"How...how?" Newkirk stuttered.

"That does not concern you," the other man leaned forward to look Newkirk straight in the eye, "At this point, all you can do now is help yourself."

"What do you want?" the Englishman said, angry at this man who so casually blew off his friend's lives.

"It is simple," the man said, casually running a hand through his dark hair as he leaned back in his chair, "We need to catch Papa Bear in an act of sabotage or espionage, and you are going to help us."

"Not bloody likely," Newkirk's response was immediate, "Why would you want to do that anyways? You obviously have all the evidence you need already."

"We discovered this information ourselves," the nasally, red-haired man said, his tone making it clear that he didn't believe it was any of Newkirk's business, "It would not be...proper...if we were to visit Stalag 13 without our superiors, and we must make this arrest ourselves."

"I get it," Newkirk grinned, glad to finally have a slight edge on the two men, "To scared to go face to face with 'ochstetter directly?"

He knew he hit the nail on the head when both men's faces tightened and they lost their smug smiles.

"I would not be so cocky if I were you," the dark-haired man said dangerously, "We could just as easily have you shot."

"I don't think you will," Newkirk countered, "I think you need my 'elp on this venture of yours, else you wouldn't 'ave asked so nicely. But I'll tell you right now, you'll be getting no 'elp from me. Ever."

Abruptly the nasally man stood up.

"Very well Corporal," his voice was strained, but had a dark edge to it, "If that is the way you feel..."

"Then we will just have to do this the hard way," the other man finished his sentence, "We had hoped you would help us willingly, but perhaps this will be better after all."

As he was speaking, the other man had slipped out of the room, returning with a small silver case. The man who was speaking grinned wickedly at the sight of it.

"It will make your performance so much more sincere."

Popping open the case's clasps, the man pulled out a small, thin needle. Newkirk had a small moment of panic at the sight of it. He knew more than he wanted to about the Nazi's experimental drugs. What would this do to him? And would he be able to stop it?

The nasally man noticed Newkirk's apprehension and his grin widened.

"Are you frightened?" he asked, amused.

"What-what is it?" he tried to sound confident, but his nerves got the best of him.

"Nothing that will hurt you, I promise," the red-haired man said as he finished preparing the syringe, "It's just going to make you forget..."

With that last word, the dark-haired man pounced, holding Newkirk down with both hands as his partner sunk the needle into the Englishman's arm. Newkirk cried out at the sharp pain when the German pushed the plunger down, forcing its contents into his bloodstream.

"Go to sleep now," the German's voice sounded distant immediately, "We will see you again, but you will not remember us..."


	7. Chapter 7

_Note: Just wanted to say thank you to everyone that has been reading and reviewing! Hope you like this chapter. :)_

It had been almost an hour since they had been dumped in the cell, and still Newkirk hadn't wakened. His body remained lifeless except for the slow movement of his chest. From the moment they got to the cell, LeBeau was by his side. The Frenchman now rested his head against the wall, his body exhausted but his mind filled with nervous energy. Carter sat on the cot, anxiety pushing him to the edge of where he sat by Newkirk's feet.

Hogan was the only one moving as he paced up and down the cell. It wasn't a nervous pace-the Colonel controlled his emotions to well for that- but he walked back and forth purposefully. The wheels in his mind turned feverishly, he was concentrating fiercely. At the moment, it didn't look good. They were locked in a cell, the Gestapo knew everything about them, and Newkirk was almost catatonic.

He sighed as he walked. What was he going to do about the Englishman, if he ever woke up? It wasn't above the Gestapo to lie to their prisoners, that was for sure. But there was also the chance that they were telling the truth. When he had arrived at Stalag 13, Newkirk had been a loose cannon who only looked after himself, but even then Hogan had never thought him capable of something like this. And now, after almost two years of working with the man, Hogan liked to think that he had helped to change Newkirk for the better. If these Gestapo men were telling the truth however, then it had all been for naught. He hated to think of one of his men like that, but it looked bad, very bad.

After a few more laps of the cell, Hogan turned to LeBeau.

"Any change?"

"Non, mon colonel. Still out."

The colonel paused in his pacing. He walked towards the cot and took a seat beside Carter. There was something he needed to say.

"I don't really know what to tell you guys. Betrayal-well, it isn't something I've really had to deal with before. I'd really like to believe that those two are bluffing, and until I see evidence to the contrary, that's going to be the basis I'm operating on. But you both need to be aware of the possibility that Newkirk sold us out."

Those last words were difficult to spit out. When he had talked to LeBeau back at the Stalag, it had seemed so much easier, so black and white. Now that he was faced with the fact that one of his men, one of his friends, may have led him and the others to the firing squad, everything went gray. This was Newkirk after all, the steadfast Englishman who had saved all of their lives countless times.

Hogan looked into the eyes of both of his men. Carter's face was uncomprehending, but LeBeau's was surprisingly resigned. It worried Hogan-if even LeBeau was losing faith in Newkirk...

"What are you thinking LeBeau?"

It took only a moment for LeBeau to rid his face of emotion and turn away to stare at the inert English corporal.

"I just hope that Pierre wakes up soon so that he can defend himself against these accusations."

88888888

Almost directly above the imprisoned men, the two Gestapo men were in their office. Franz was sitting in his chair, staring at the contraption that sat in front of him. While he was hard at work on the machine, his partner paced back and forth much the same as Hogan was doing far below him. He paced in silence, face stony as he tried to ignore the occasional curse from Franz.

"Is this really necessary?" the red-haired man asked after a particularly vulgar curse.

"Of course it is," Franz answered without looking up, his tone making it obvious that he had already answered this question many times, "We need Hogan to be thoroughly broken. We need him shaken to the core so that he will not even try to think of a way out of his situation."

"And you think that this will shake him that badly," the other man sounded sceptical.

"I understand men like Hogan. It will work."

"How could he get out of this anyways?" the nasally voiced man stopped pacing, "He is locked in a cell with all of his men!"

"Not all of them," countered Franz absently as he tried to focus on his task, "You forget, he did not bring Sergeant Kinchloe along. I have no doubt that even now the Sergeant is planning a way to help his Colonel. With luck, we will be able to intercept whatever he manages to send, but a moment of indecision from Hogan will be helpful."

"Bah! What could he do? He is one man."

Franz sighed in a long suffering way.

"The underground, Niklas? Are they so easily forgotten?"

"Even the underground cannot simply walk into Gestapo headquarters!"

Suddenly Franz jumped up from his seat and motioned his partner to be quiet.

"Ssshhh! It is finished. Listen!"

The machine lying on the desk was in fact a recording device. The tape inside was rolling through it now, and the two men listened intently. Three voices played back to them: one was a deep German, the second, nasal and whiny, and the third a strong Cockney. As the tape finished rolling, Franz flicked the switch off and packed up the device. He smiled at his partner.

"It is perfect."

"It is," Niklas began to smile as well, "You can't even hear a skip where the ends meet."

"Good," Franz patted Niklas' back as he walked out the door, then paused and chuckled slightly, "You know, I almost feel bad for the Englander."

The two exchanged a glance, and then broke into laughter as they headed down towards the cells.

88888888

"_You can only save yourself now Corporal. The information you give us will lead to the destruction of your little band, and the men in it."_

"_What do you want me to do? I'll tell you what you want. Don't worry about that."_

"_Oh we know you will be most cooperative. It is so much better when you give us what we want willingly, don't you think?"_

"_Right."_

"_This way is much quicker. We only had to keep you here for three days, and we have found ourselves a new ally!"_

"_Not what you thought I would be?"_

"_Oh no, we expected you to put up quite a fight! Loyalty isn't all it's cracked up to be is it?"_

"_No, it's not."_

"_Pity isn't it? Now, will you tell us about Stalag 13?"_

"_You asked so nicely, I'll tell you right now."_

"_Everything?"_

"_All of it."_

The three men stared in shock, their mouths agape. Could they really be hearing this? Up until this moment, they were a little suspicious of Newkirk, but now they had evidence laid before them. The damning tape clicked off just then, but it took a moment for the three to regain their bearings. LeBeau had been leaning against Newkirk's cot, but he now slid away from the Englishman without thinking. Carter's eyebrows were drawn together, perplexed and shocked. Hogan couldn't react immediately. This was proof. Real proof.

"I hope we have given you something to think over, Colonel Hogan," Franz packed away his recording device.

"You say he told you everything?" Hogan asked, still trying to make sense of the situation, "Did he tell you what we keep underneath Barracks 4?"

Franz grinned, glad to demonstrate his superior knowledge.

"I believe it is a money press, is it not?"

The breath Hogan had been holding came out in a rush, and he turned away from the Gestapo men. The money press was kept a tight secret, known only to his core group and the men who operated it. This had been to ensure that some of the less virtuous men in his command wouldn't be tempted to steal from it. A last ditch effort to try and prove that this wasn't really true. And all it had done was prove that it was.

The Germans left, taking the tape recording with them. All three of the Allie had already turned away from the door to stare at the man on the cot. The man they had thought was a friend. The man who had sold them out to the enemy.


	8. Chapter 8

_Note: Sorry this update took so long, RL has been crazy busy! This chapter is going to be a bit longer, but I hope you like it!_

Kinch paced back and forth, wearing down the floor in the radio room. Normally when the other boys were out, he could calm his nerves enough to sit by the radio and wait. But this mission was too important, too dangerous. He ran a hand through his short hair, wishing desperately that he could have gone out with them. Usually he didn't mind being coloured, in fact he was proud of it despite the harsh segregation. He loved his culture, and his people. But when it caused him to have to let his friends go into danger without him, he hated it miserably. All he could do was sit here and watch the radio.

Before they left, Colonel Hogan had asked him to tell the underground what had happened and to see if they had any information. Not one hour ago, the response had come back decidedly negative. But Kinch had asked them to keep an eye on the building anyways. It was dangerous to hang around a Gestapo building, but he had been desperate to help the others somehow.

He was waiting to hear back from the agent now. It was difficult to know when to worry, as there hadn't been a set time for them to return, but they had been gone for hours now.

"Red Fox calling Home Plate, come in Home Plate."

Kinch nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran for the radio, praying for news, any news, of his friends.

"This is Home Plate, go ahead Red Fox."

"We are afraid Papa Bear has been captured. He has not left the Rat`s Nest for over two hours. Should we attempt a rescue?"

Kinch paused before replying. If they had been inside for over two hours, they were almost certainly caught. He didn't want to risk the underground agents, but he couldn't go himself. One, he didn't exactly blend in with German society. Two, if the others were captured it meant that the Gestapo had likely recognized them and would be able to recognize him as well.

"Rescue is a high priority, but use all available precautions. It will be dangerous."

He hoped he was doing the right thing.

"We will report back after the rescue attempt is made. Red Fox out."

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Slowly, Newkirk began to realize he was regaining awareness of his surroundings. The dream, or memory rather, had faded abruptly and he could now feel the hard cot beneath him and the damp, cold air around him. He knew immediately that he was in a cell somewhere, but he couldn`t remember how he had gotten there. The last thing he recalled was being in the office with those two Gestapo men.

Except for the dream of course. But it wasn`t a dream, no, it was a memory. A memory that would prove his innocence once and for all. He wanted desperately to share it with his friends, but he didn`t even know if they were in the room. Not that he could have said anything anyways, his power of speech seemed to be returning even more slowly than his sight.

As he gradually gained his bearings, Newkirk casually flicked his eyes open for a moment. They slid shut once more, but he forced them to reopen after he spotted LeBeau leaning against the hard concrete wall. With his eyes now completely open, he took a quick inventory of his surroundings. He was lying on a small cot in, as he had guessed, a cell. LeBeau was standing up against the wall opposite his head, but the Frenchman's eyes were downcast and he did not see that Newkirk was awake. He cast his eyes towards the entrance of the cell, and spotted Hogan characteristically pacing in front of the door. But where was Carter?

Newkirk began to sit up and turn his head to take a broader look across the cell, when a voice behind his head made him jump suddenly.

"He's awake sir."

Carter's voice sounded just behind him, and he whirled around to see that the American sergeant had been leaning against the wall directly behind his head. What truly surprised him though, was the tone Carter used. The solemn, quiet tone he had just voiced was not one Carter usually expressed. More often he was in a constant state of barely suppressed jubilation.

Hogan turned from his pacing and saw that the Englishman was indeed sitting up in the cot and looking at Carter perplexedly. Then Newkirk`s face turned towards him, and as their eyes met Hogan recoiled slightly. He couldn`t believe that the man still had the nerve to look him in the eye. Clenching his teeth, he strode over to the side of the cot. LeBeau also moved in closer. There were some things he needed to say.

Newkirk had been about to cry out a wise cracking greeting, but held back when he saw the looks on his friend`s faces. Maybe it was selfish, but he had expected them to at least show a little happiness at his awakening. Instead, LeBeau was shooting him dirty looks, Carter was giving him his "I'm trying to be angry" face, and Hogan, well, Hogan's face was about as warm as a polar bear's in January. What the hell was going on here? It hit Newkirk suddenly-they still believed he might be a traitor. But no matter, he remembered now...

"Corporal Newkirk," Hogan began before Newkirk could open his mouth, and the Englishman winced inwardly at the harsh formality, "Care to explain yourself?"

"I didn't do it sir," Newkirk spoke rapidly, eager to explain his new revelation to the team, "I remember now, when I was passed out I remembered-"

"That's enough," the colonel cut him off abruptly, "We're tired of the lies corporal. The Gestapo recorded everything you said."

"Well then you know don't you?" Newkirk began to sound worried. Hogan had never cut him off like that, nor had he ever addressed him as just "corporal", "You 'eard me tell them to sod off, you 'eard that they really got their information somewhere else!"

"We heard you willingly agree to sell out our operation to the krauts!" Hogan's voice rose as he spoke, he was near to yelling now.

Suddenly angered by Hogan's refusal to believe him and flying accusations, Newkirk's voice rose to match his, Cockney accent growing stronger by the second.

"Not a chance in 'ell!"

"It was your voice alright, that same damn Cockney accent of yours. And who else would be able to tell them about the money press? Explain that!"

The colour of both men's faces rose violently as Newkirk stood up to stare Hogan straight in the eye. The lopsided look caused by Newkirk's black eye made him look genuinely frightening, and Carter pulled away from him slightly.

"I can' believe," the Englishman's voice dropped dangerously, "Tha' you would take the word of some ruddy Gestapo kraut-"

"This isn't about one man's word over another!" once again Hogan cut across Newkirk, his voice finally reaching a distinct yell, "They had proof! Proof! You think I want to believe this? That one of my best men, one of my friends, sold us out?"

"But 'e's lying!" Newkirk bellowed back, his words were barely understandable by now.

"Evidence doesn't lie corporal!" Hogan couldn't seem to keep his usual calm composure that he could normally maintain even in the face of almost certain death. He hated this, he hated that he had been shown the truth about one of his men, and he hated that Newkirk continued to deny it.

Newkirk gritted his teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. Why wouldn't Hogan believe him? A thought crossed his mind-if Hogan didn't, maybe someone else would...

"Louis," he turned to look at the Frenchmen, and his words faltered for a moment when he saw his friend's cold eyes staring back at him, "You-you believe me right? I wouldn't do this, I would never do this to you. We're mates."

The last statement sounded almost like a question.

For a moment, LeBeau simply stared at him, as if he were unsure how to respond. Then, he walked closer until he was right under Newkirk's nose. He stuck his chin out and spoke determinedly.

"The boche are your friends now."

Newkirk's heart broke right there.

" 'Ow can you say that?" he was nearly pleading now, "After everything thing we've done, after-"

He could not bring himself to say the words "I sacrificed myself to save you."

LeBeau closed his eyes and ears to Newkirk. He could hardly even think about what was happening, and truly he wasn't sure Newkirk was guilty. Somewhere, deep down, he had a feeling that _they_ were the ones betraying their friend. But he looked at Hogan's face and buried the feeling deep.

Despair started to set in as Newkirk now turned to Carter. The American didn't meet his eyes, but stared at his feet.

"Andrew? Please?"

Shifting nervously, Carter did not answer at first. His eyes flickered upwards to Newkirk's face for a moment, and Newkirk smiled hesitantly. However, his eyes quickly slid back down to the floor, where he stared as he spoke.

"I heard your voice Newkirk."

Newkirk was utterly floored. In quiet desperation his gaze shifted from face to face, hoping to gain at least a glimpse of sympathy. When none was forthcoming, he opened his mouth to once more begin an angry tirade. But he paused when all of their heads swivelled towards the door. They could hear the key being clumsily turned from the outside, and then watched as it swung open. All four were wondering exactly what the Gestapo had in store for them this time.

The two men who cautiously peeked through the doorway however, despite their black uniforms, were obviously not Gestapo for their faces broke out in wide grins when they spotted the four men.

"Gunter! Heinrich!" Hogan exclaimed in shock before moving to greet the men, "What are you doing here?"

"Come to rescue the famous Papa Bear of course!" grinned Heinrich, "Finally, the underground can help save your men, instead of the other way around!"

"Ssssshhhh!" cautioned Gunter, "There will be time for more lengthy explanations later. Your man Kinch told us where you were, but warned that he could not come himself as they were likely to recognize him. So we came. Now we must go, and quickly!"

"What's the plan?" questioned Hogan, unused to someone rescuing him.

"We will have to sneak out the back," replied Heinrich, "We have a car waiting in the alley. This is a large risk, I know, but we will have to walk straight out of here."

"Let's get to it then," nodded Hogan. He turned back to his men and paused, his face creased with the intensity of his thoughts. Even as he came to a decision, the lines still did not disappear, "LeBeau, Carter, let's go."

The two men moved to stand by the door as ordered. Newkirk stood ramrod straight in the center of the room as he realized what Hogan intended.

"No guv'," his eyes and voice filled with hurt, "You can' leave me 'ere. Whatever you think about me."

"Why not?" the colonel's voice was acid, "Don't you want to spend time with your favourite krauts?"

"Fine!" Newkirk suddenly fumed with anger, his green eyes brimming with rage and his tongue dripping of it, "Go then! Go on!"

With that he turned his back to his former comrades and collapsed back on the bunk. The two underground agents exchanged perplexed glances, but followed quickly behind Hogan as he stalked from the room. Carter, to, was right on his heels. LeBeau paused on his way out, turning to look back at the Englishman. As he closed the cell door behind him, he swore he could see the other man's shoulders shaking silently.


	9. Chapter 9

_Note:_ _Can't believe I actually got this up while on vacay! Haha but hope you like it, please R&R!_

Once again, Kinch was playing the waiting game. Not one hour ago he had sent the underground off to rescue the others, and now he waited. At this point, the only thing left to do was hope and pray. By this time the agents should have made it to Gestapo headquarters, and it was out of his hands now. The only thing he had to think about was how long he could wait before evacuating the camp. It was only their contingency plan, but if Hogan and the others didn't make it back, and the Gestapo were still coming, then the rest of them would have to leave. Most of the men in the camp had been involved in the operation at some point, and all of them were likely to be shot as spies.

He sat by the radio, his anxiety the only thing holding him back from exhaustion. The tunnels were silent, all the other men were up in the barracks sleeping. For a moment he experienced a pang of envy for the blissfully ignorant men above him. Hogan and the others had left to quickly and been too concerned about a mass panic to fill them in on the situation. Then he focused back to reality when the radio suddenly sprang to life.

"Jinx to Home Plate, come in Home Plate."

Although his hand had been stretched out to send an immediate reply, it stopped in midair as the rest of his brain processed the message. Who the hell was Jinx? He had expected Red Fox again, this "Jinx" had never contacted them before. With all that had happened in the past few days, Kinch was in a far from trusting mood. It Jinx was a Gestapo infiltrator, they would get no information from him, no sir.

"Come in Home Plate, this is Jinx. I am a friend of Red Fox's, I have the information you requested."

Kinch inhaled sharply when the stranger uttered Red Fox's codename. But did this mean that Jinx was on the level, or had Red Fox been captured and forced to give out his codename? He cursed under his breath. Should he reply? The man said he had information, likely about the Gestapo informant that had sold them out. But it could just as easily be a plant to lure him into some kind of trap.

"Home plate, please come in. I understand you may not trust me, but we are on the same side, I swear. London can verify my information."

Well, Kinch thought, he asked for it, and he immediately began sending out an urgent message to London. He knew that London hated to be bothered unless absolutely necessary, but at least this way he would know. He couldn't risk replying, not with the Gestapo knowing everything, nor could he risk losing vital information.

The message back from London came through surprisingly quickly. He had informed them of the situation earlier, and they were as anxious as he was to hear news from Papa Bear. Reading the short, concise reply, he turned back to the radio. Apparently Jinx was a very important agent.

"Jinx, this is Home Plate. London has verified your identity and endorsed your legitimacy. Go ahead with your information."

"It is concerning the identity of your informer. I warn you, this may be a bit difficult to believe, but it is true."

Kinch leaned back on his stool, composing himself before giving Jinx the go ahead. It must have been Newkirk then, he couldn't believe it. The Colonel had warmed him of his suspicions, but he hadn't really believed him. Why else would Jinx be so concerned? It just seemed so impossible that Newkirk, the brave, loyal man who was one of his few friends, would ever betray them. Of all people, Newkirk! He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as he prepared himself to actually hear it confirmed.

"Go ahead Jinx."

"If you think back to a few weeks ago, do you remember a young flyer that you operation processed by the name of Keith Densington, an American? Solo breakout from Stalag 8?"

It took Kinch a moment to understand what Jinx had said. He had been so prepared to hear damning evidence about Newkirk that at first this information was difficult to process. But he did remember. The man was a corporal, a nervous type who didn't say much. They had had to keep him in the camp for about ten days due to high Gestapo activity at the time, he even spent some time inside the barracks, before shipping him out to England. Nothing that hadn't happened before.

"Well turns out his name is really Johann Kamyer. Until recently he was a member of the underground, in Berlin actually. That is likely where he caught wind of your operation. Around four months ago it was discovered he was turning over information to the Gestapo. They protected him from his former allies and, apparently, gave him the task of infiltrating your operation. He switched places with the real Corporal Densington, took down all the information he could then followed the escape route."

Jinx paused for breath, and Kinch seized the opportunity.

"Hang on a second. Kamyer can't have gone back to England, not and still tell the Gestapo everything. And London confirmed that Densington made it back."

"That is because he did. The two switched places along the escape route. It was a very smooth operation."

"I'll say. They sure had us fooled," Kinch replied bitterly, thinking of how they had blamed one of their own instead.

"Don't blame yourselves. The Gestapo are cunning and their infiltrators more so. But now I must go."

"Wait! If you don't mind my asking, where did you get your information? Papa Bear will want to know."

If he ever gets back, Kinch thought.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Suffice it to say that Gestapo infiltrators may be cunning, but the ones on our side are much, much better. Jinx out."

Kinch could almost hear the wink in the other man's voice. He was almost certain of where this information had come from now, and found himself with a growing respect for Jinx.

And gratitude of course. In the space of a few moments, Jinx had cleared Newkirk's name. Obviously Newkirk was some kind of scapegoat for all of this, but after they dealt with this "Johann Kamyer", everything would be fine. Of course, this all depended on the success of Red Fox's mission. If the others didn't make it, then it didn't make much difference whether or not Newkirk was innocent.

As Kinch settled himself to sit back and wait again, he stared at the radio but could not relax completely. His anxiety for the others' return, for them to once more be a team, was double now. With all five of them back together again, they would find a way out of this mess for sure.

88888888

Hogan and his men paused beside the small farmhouse. It seemed that they had finally found a stroke of luck, for the escape from Gestapo Headquarters had gone off without a hitch. Now that they had finally reached Red Fox's, also known as Gunter's, base, they could begin heading back to Stalag 13.

As the three men followed Gunter and Heinrich inside, Hogan sighed inwardly. Back to Stalag 13, and then to begin the evacuation. Kinch would have everything ready, all he would have to do was say the word. What he wouldn't pay to not have to give that order. But now they had no choice, their mission had failed. Never before had his team had such a miserable failure. He was unused to returning to camp in defeat.

And this defeat was twofold, and therefore twice as painful. Hogan took Newkirk's betrayal personally. How had he failed so horribly that a man in his command had needed to turn to the krauts? It still seemed unreal to him, even though he knew it to be true.

Or at least, he was fairly sure it was true. Pretty sure. Nearly. To tell the truth, the journey away from the Gestapo had allowed him to calm down, and now he wasn't so certain. Looking back, it really just didn't make sense. Sure, Newkirk made a show of being unconcerned, self-preserving, but Hogan remembered the nights that he had stayed behind and paced for hours until the other returned. From the beginning, he had always felt like Newkirk's was a hard won loyalty, but once you had it you had it for life. And usually he was a pretty good judge of character.

In fact the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he never should have left the Englishman behind. He had made the decision in a fit of temper, something no one should ever do, but now he regretted it just as strongly. But what could he do now? He could hardly ask Gunter and Heinrich to return, and he had a responsibility to the men still at the Stalag. Much as he disliked it, it would seem that Newkirk would have to stay where he was.

Hogan followed close on Heinrich's heels into the small house, and Carter was right behind him until suddenly the sergeant realized that LeBeau hadn't followed. He turned to see the Frenchman standing stock still a few feet from the entrance. He could tell that the other man's mind was working furiously behind shuttered eyes. Suddenly LeBeau's face jumped to life as he came to a decision. LeBeau began to turn away, when he noticed Carter staring at him.

"You mustn't tell _le Colonel_," LeBeau said insistently, reaching out to put his hand on Carter's arm, "He is not himself right now, and I have to do this."

"Do what?" Carter, as usual, was thoroughly confused.

"I am going to get Pierre," LeBeau stated firmly in a tone which allowed no argument.

"Well I'm coming with you them!" Carter jumped forward with his signature childishness.

"_Non_, Andre," LeBeau shook his head, "I need you to stay here and cover for me with _le Colonel _long enough that he cannot bring me back."

Carter grimaced in disappointment but nodded his assent. If they both left, the Colonel would be after them in an instant and Newkirk would rot in the Gestapo cell forever.

"Ok," he said, anxious for LeBeau to go help their friend, but then suddenly he had a thought, "So you don't think he did it?"

"I don't know what to think," LeBeau sighed, "All I know is that he has been my friend for many years, and I will not leave him behind to die in a cell somewhere."

"But you said, back there I mean-"

"I know what I said then!" the fiery Frenchman snapped, then softened slightly, "I was angry, and confused. Now that I can see more clearly, I am ashamed of what we did, and in my heart I know Pierre is innocent. Somehow I will prove it."

Accepting this explanation, Carter quietly wished his friend good luck and sent up a silent prayer while he watched LeBeau leave. Then he turned back to the house, ready to face the Colonel. He found the other three men huddled around a small radio, and joined them quietly.

Hogan looked around at his approach then back to the radio.

"We're trying to get in contact with Kinch and tell him we're ok," Hogan explained, "What took you so long?"

"Me 'n LeBeau were just flipping a coin for who would take look out, "Carter tried to assume the false bravado he used so well as a German general in order to hide his nerves.

Once again Hogan looked up, and for the first time realized only Carter had entered. Carter held his breath for a moment, hoping Hogan would accept the ruse. Then Hogan grinned slightly.

"Found some luck at last, hey Carter?" he chuckled a little, the focussed back in on the radio.

Carter exhaled slowly, relieved that the Colonel hadn't questioned him. He glanced out the nearby window, paying no attention to the other men in the room, and thought of LeBeau, alone in the woods, and of Newkirk, left alone in a cell.


	10. Chapter 10

"It happens Colonel Hogan. These radios are brought to us piece by piece, we assemble them as best we can but they don't hold up forever."

Hogan shook his head, trying to clear his mind and hear the logic in Gunter's words. No one was to blame for this; it was simply one more bad break on a mission that had already been full of them. Before he spoke however, he took a moment to calm down. He did not want to regret yet another decision he had made in anger.

Putting Newkirk from his mind, he turned to Gunter.

"I understand Gunter. But we need to leave now. I had thought it would save us time to radio Kinch, but we've now lost more than we gained. Come on Carter, let's get LeBeau."

Carter, who had barely been concentrating on the conversation, focussed when he heard his name and panicked slightly when he heard LeBeau's. What was he supposed to tell the Colonel now? He didn't know how far the little Frenchman had gotten; he still needed to buy him time. If only Newkirk were here, he was good at this kind of stuff. But he wasn't, and right now he was depending on Carter's lying skills.

"I'll go get him sir!" Carter nearly yelped in his eagerness, leaving the house without even waiting for Hogan's assent.

For a moment, Hogan's forehead creased, but he put it down to Carter's usual excitability.

"I wish we could help you more Colonel," Gunter still sounded apologetic.

"You've done more than enough," Hogan said, clasping the man's shoulder, "Think where we'd be if it hadn't been for you!"

Clapping the man on the back and nodding to Heinrich at the kitchen counter, Hogan left the house. When he stepped from the doorway, he was surprised to see Carter waiting for him alone, with no sign of LeBeau.

"Where is-"

"He said he was going to scout ahead, for patrols, and meet us back at the stump unless he saw something," Carter spoke quickly, but easily enough that his nerves did not betray the ruse.

"For a second, Hogan felt anger to the French corporal. LeBeau knew better than to run off alone, he was more likely to run straight into a patrol than report it back to them! After he thought about it though, perhaps LeBeau just wanted some time alone. He had been close with Newkirk after all. _So were you_, a voice in his head nagged, but he pushed it down. It wouldn't help anyone to think of that anymore now.

Of course, this didn't change the fact that LeBeau was going to get a stern talking to when he got his hands on him. But for now, perhaps, it was better to let LeBeau come to terms with what had happened. He was still trying to make sense of it himself.

"Alright Carter. Let's get back to camp."

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Newkirk shut his eyes tight, hoping that maybe this time he would be able to sleep and forget where he was for a little while. But, just like it had every other time he had lain his head down on the hard cot, sleep eluded him. He had long since lost track of the time that had passed since the others left, but he knew he had been restlessly awake for all of it. It wasn't particularly surprising, considering the sheer magnitude of the conflicting emotions running through him.

How could the others give up on him so easily? What would make them believe he had betrayed them? Yes, he had feared it himself at one point, but he remembered what really happened now. That was really the thing that hurt the most. He had told them the truth, but they believed the Gestapo instead of him. Why? They were his best mates; they might as well have been family. Of course, he was no stranger to family betrayal. When his own father had left him and his sister with nothing after their mother died, he couldn't have imagined a worse betrayal. But this one was right up there with it.

You can't trust anyone, Newkirk thought ruefully. That may as well have been his life motto before Stalag 13. Sure, he had had a group of friends back at the airbase, but they were just men he flew with, drank with, things like that. Never anyone that he actually trusted enough to really confide in. Then he got to Stalag 13, and met LeBeau, Kinch, Carter and finally Colonel Hogan. Somehow they had managed to get under his skin, and he had finally felt like he had mates that not only could he trust them, but they trusted him. For the first time in his life, he felt comfortable with himself.

Now it was all out the window. He was alone in this cell and the others were gone, and they weren't coming back.

Suddenly Newkirk's solemn thoughts were interrupted by a voice at the door.

"Stand away from the door!" a nervous voice called out in a heavy German accent, "We are coming in."

The door swung wide open to reveal a very young SS guard. A few more men stood behind the boy, armed heavily. Newkirk raised his head slightly to see who was interrupting his solitude, then let it drop promptly back down to the cot. He was far beyond caring about what the Gestapo wanted. All he wanted right now was to be left alone.

Apparently the krauts had other ideas. The young boy stood in the doorway, mouth agape, staring at the nearly empty room which should have contained three more prisoners. For a moment he simply stared, and then he snapped out of his stupor.

"Where are the others? Tell me!"

The slight shake in his voice underneath the false bravado betrayed his nerves. As a more experienced actor, Newkirk managed to hide his bitterness at the question more successfully.

"Mate," he replied nonchalantly, barely even opening his eyes, "Even if I did know, I wouldn't be telling you now would I?"

"We'll see about that," scoffed the youngster, before turning on his heel and slamming the door shut.

Newkirk sighed loudly, and straightened up on the cot. No doubt he would soon be graced with the presence of the two perpetrators of this mess. And they weren't likely to be feeling very pleasant.

He didn't have to wait long at all, and he knew the latter assumption was also correct by the looks on their faces. As they walked into the cell, he felt a deep rage swell up inside of him. These were the men who had turned his friends against him. If they expected help from him, he would tell them the exact same thing he had last time. Perhaps with a few added expletives to prove his point.

"Lost something, 'ave we gents?" Newkirk sneered at them from the cot.

In only a moment, the red-haired man crossed the room, grabbed Newkirk by his shirt collar and sent him to the floor with a left hook to his face. Newkirk cried out involuntarily as the man's fist connected with his already injured eye.

"I have tired of your insolence Englander!" the Gestapo man, crazed with rage, shouted down at Newkirk, "Tell us where they are! Now!"

Bracing himself with his good arm, Newkirk raised himself up so he was leaning against the cot. He did not try to stem the blood he could feel flowing from his eye. Instead he looked straight back at the red-faced man and, despite knowing what the man was likely to do to him, let loose a string of curse words to emphasize his flat out refusal.

Immediately, the man's flailing fists and boots began attacking him from every angle. Every contact seemed to hit a bruise that was already there, and doubled the pain Newkirk already felt.

"Enough Niklas!" Franz had to yell to be heard above Niklas' grunts of exertion and the cries of pain that Newkirk could no longer hold back, "This is getting us nowhere! Enough!"

Finally the enraged man allowed himself to be pulled off of the helpless Englishman. He backed off to the far side of the cell, but continued to glower at Newkirk menacingly.

Newkirk barely noticed the murderous glares he was receiving. His eye was once again swollen shut, and his broken arm was so numb with pain he hardly knew it was there. And this was without mentioning the countless new bruises forming beneath the ones he already had, or the blood dripping from his cut lip. He opened his good eye however, when he sensed Franz kneeling beside him. Flinching back, he eyed the Gestapo captain warily.

"Now now," Franz tried to sound soothing, but there was an underlying menace in his tone, "No one is going to hurt you anymore. You will have to excuse Niklas, he has a nasty temper, and I'm afraid your missing friends have upset him a little. Won't you tell us where they've gone?"

In spite of his pain, Newkirk couldn't help but laugh.

"You think they told me?" he scoffed, "In case you 'aven't noticed, I'm not exactly in the circle of trust right now. You lot made sure of that."

Franz inhaled sharply through his gritted teeth, and for a moment Newkirk though that he too was going to strike him for his insolence. Showing more self-restraint than his partner, Franz calmed himself quickly, and focussed on what he needed.

"You may be right corporal," he conceded, "But surely you have some idea where they have gone?"

As a matter of fact, Newkirk did have an idea. Seeing as it was Gunter and Heinrich who rescued them, it only made sense that Hogan and the others would head back to their farm before going back to Stalag 13. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell the Gestapo that. He hadn't betrayed his friends before, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Not a bleedin' clue."

At this statement, Franz stood up sharply and glared down condescendingly at Newkirk. This sudden change in his demeanour startled Newkirk a little, especially when Niklas moved to stand next to his partner.

"You must face the facts Corporal," stated Franz coldly, "Your friends have abandoned you. There is no hope for escape of rescue. The only help you can get is the help we can offer you. Tell us where they have gone, and you are a free man. Tell us, and you can avoid more pain and suffering."

"For the last bloody time," Newkirk clenched his teeth with his determination, "I'm not tellin' you twisters anythin'!"

Niklas' face broke into an eerie grin, and suddenly Newkirk wished he could take the words back. The man was positively terrifying as he crouched down to peer into the Englishman's eyes.

"Very well then," Niklas' jeer lit up the cruelty in his eyes, "If you refuse to help us, then I'm afraid we have no further use for you."

He leaned in further, till his face was directly in front of Newkirk's, so that the corporal had no choice but to stare into the hellish glow emanating from his eyes.

"I believe you just made yourself a date with the firing squad, Englander. Shall we say, at sunset?"

It felt to Newkirk like the temperature had just dropped fifteen degrees. He could scarcely think as the reality of these words sunk in. He was going to die, and the last time he ever saw his mates, they were turning their backs on him in hate. They would never know the truth, and he would forever be a traitor in their minds. The utter injustice of the situation threatened to crush him, but he held it back weakly.

"I'll 'ave to check my calendar," he spoke slowly, slightly dazed from this sudden pronouncement, "I'll 'ave my secretary get back to you."

The expressions on their faces did not change, if anything Niklas' leer grew wider and Franz's face grew stonier. Niklas stood, still grinning, and Newkirk swore he heard him chuckle as the two men left the cell.

The English corporal pushed himself stiffly off the ground. Gently, he lowered himself back onto the cot. Curling his good arm around his legs and holding his broken one tight against his chest, he took several quick, shallow breaths. He refused to let tears fall; he had succumbed to his emotions once already and would not do so again. Instead, he held himself tightly and found himself praying for help, help that he knew had turned its back on him. He was really and truly alone.

_Note: If anyone has any concerns about how this is gonna end and whether or not they should keep reading, please PM me. =)_


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: Thanks to Sierra Sutherwinds for pointing out the time issues, hope this clears it up for you!_

LeBeau took several quick, shallow breaths from behind the tree he was using as cover. He had only narrowly avoided being spotted by a patrol, but managed to get past them with a little fancy footwork and a large amount of luck. Now he was within sight of the town. For a moment he watched the people moving through the streets, all nervously glancing around them and going about their business as fast as they could. People were jumpy these days, and with the Gestapo stationed in town, they had reason.

It took LeBeau a second to gain his bearings, but eventually he spotted the tall, slanted roof of the building he sought. With luck, it would take him only twenty minutes to walk there. However, lately luck had not been with his team as often as it usually was. He should definitely count on time spent hiding in alleyways from German guards.

Perhaps he should wait until dark instead. The sun was low on the horizon; it could not be more than an hour and a half till sundown. Under cover of darkness, it would be much easier to slip past guards and other patrols. He would be no good to Newkirk if he got himself captured.

Then again, he would be no good to Newkirk just sitting here either. Any minute Colonel Hogan would discover that he had left, and come after him. Then he would be taken to Stalag 13 and Newkirk would rot in a jail cell. No, he would have to go now. It would be risky, but he had no choice.

And so the little Frenchman slipped quietly into the town.

This time, luck was really with him. In just a short half hour, he found himself staring at Gestapo headquarters and discovering that he had a problem. The entire time he had been so focussed on getting away from Hogan, and into town, and then through the town without being caught, that he hadn't given any thought to what he was going to do once he was there. Getting in shouldn't be a problem, Gunter and Heinrich had proved that the back of the building was relatively unguarded. But how was he supposed to get Newkirk out once he was in? Even if he was able to steal the keys to the cell, it wouldn't exactly be easy to smuggle a half-blind Englishman with a broken arm through Gestapo headquarters.

And yet easy or not, it would have to be done. He was the only one who could save Newkirk from whatever horrible torture the boche had in store for him.

With that thought heavy on his mind, LeBeau began his quiet, one-man assault on the building. He had a sharp memory, and retracing their escape route out of the building was only too easy. Once inside however, things became a little dicey. There were Gestapo men everywhere, and it took every ounce of skill the minute Frenchman had to sneak past them into the cell block below. It took more skill than he had to snitch the keys from the guard's belt as he passed, but he had taken lessons from one of the great pick-pockets of his time. Somehow, the keys ended up in his hands.

He hurried towards Newkirk's cell, but then paused, suddenly anxious. The last time he had seen Newkirk, he had accused him of being a traitor before abandoning him to the mercy of the krauts. What kind of welcome could he expect after that? It was then that the full reality of what he had done finally sunk in. How would he react if Newkirk had left him behind, not caring whether he lived or died?

Therefore he approached the door apprehensively, actually frightened now. Not of Newkirk hurting him, but of how much hurt he had caused Newkirk. Because whatever the Englishman had done after, he saved LeBeau's life that night in the barn. That night, and many times before it. How could he possibly meet Newkirk's eyes after such a complete betrayal?

Steeling himself for whatever awaited him within, LeBeau slid the key into the lock and slipped quickly through the door. Before turning, he pushed the door until it was almost closed. Then he spun slowly on his heel, braced for anything.

Or so he thought. The man lying on the cot before him was not Newkirk. It couldn't be Newkirk. The entire right side of his face was so swollen that the eye was almost hidden. A hard, dry, red substance covered most of his face and neck, and LeBeau had to look farther down the man's torso to avoid fainting. One of his arms was bent at an awkward angle across his body, the other had a vicelike grip upon his shoulder as if trying to hold himself together. No, this could not be Newkirk. He must have gone to the wrong cell.

Suddenly the prone man blinked an eyelid open. It looked as though he was going to immediately close it in disdain, but a flash of recognition kept it open.

"L-Louis?"

LeBeau's breath caught in his throat. This man, this hurt, broken, helpless man, was indeed Newkirk. He ran to his friend, kneeling at the edge of the cot.

"Mon ami," he tried to say more but found that the words would not come out. He was in too much shock. The krauts had hurt Newkirk worse than ever, and he had allowed it to happen, enabled it even. What could he say to make up for that?

"Are-are you really 'ere?"

"Oui, Pierre. I am here," LeBeau pushed the words out, forcing them through the gag of guilt and sudden self-loathing.

"What," Newkirk tried to raise himself to a sitting position as he spoke, "are you doing 'ere?"

His tone was weak, but LeBeau could still hear the accusation in it.

"I am sorry," he blurted out, anxious to convince Newkirk he was here to help, and not to cause him further pain, "I am sorrier than you could believe. I hate myself for allowing this to happen to you, for betraying you when you needed me. You have never left me behind, but I abandoned you. I would die to help you, to somehow make up for what I've done."

Words failed LeBeau after that. His emotions were to strong, all he could do was offer a hand to help Newkirk pull himself up. To his surprise, the assistance was accepted.

"I thought you believed them," Newkirk spoke slowly, carefully forming the words around his split lip, "I thought you believed I was a traitor."

"I thought I did as well," LeBeau admitted, shamefaced, "But then I realized I was a fool to believe some lying kraut. I know you could never betray us mon ami. I am only sorry it took me so long to see it."

Slowly, painfully, a small smile formed on Newkirk's face.

"S'all right Louis. You're 'ere now aren't you? So where's everyone else 'iding? Not like Carter to keep quiet for so long."

The petite Frenchman could not quite meet his friend's eyes. It would do no good to hide it, Newkirk would find out soon enough. He opened his mouth to answer, but Newkirk beat him to it. He had seen the look in his small friend's eyes.

"They didn't come did they? So that's it then. Everyone still 'ates me, and you're only 'ere because you ruddy feel guilty. Nice."

"Non Pierre!" LeBeau jumped to his feet, shouting, "It isn't like that! André wanted to come, and le Colonel was just figuring it out-"

Staring at something over LeBeau's shoulder, Newkirk cut him off.

"I wish you 'adn't come Louis," his tone was closed off, shuttered, "You should 'ave just left me 'ere."

"What?" LeBeau was incredulous and close to hysterics now, but Newkirk just kept on staring past him, "Do you want to stay here and rot Pierre?"

"Oh, he won't rot."

Newkirk's mouth hadn't moved, but LeBeau didn't need that to tell him someone else was speaking. He had heard this cold voice before, and for a moment he felt sheer panic. The feeling heightened when another, nasally voice continued the thought.

"Or at least, he won't rot in this cell."

The Frenchman whirled to face the two men he knew would be there, flanked by a group of heavily armed guards. Franz stared at him coldly, while the nasally man leered with glowering eyes.

"I am so very glad you could join us Corporal LeBeau," Franz said, not a hint of emotion in his voice, not even excitement, "Double executions are twice the fun, don't you agree?"

The hint of a cruel joke did not match his ice cold eyes. The two of them stared at the corporals for a moment longer, then turned as one.

"Leave them in here until you have prepared the firing squad. And guard this door properly, do you hear? I want no more interruptions until I get to see someone shot."

As swiftly as they came in, the door slammed shut behind them leaving LeBeau alone with Newkirk once again.

"Pierre?" LeBeau did not turn, but stared straight ahead, "What did he mean?"

"He means," Newkirk's tone was one of condescending sarcasm, "That before you got 'ere 'e was just going to shoot me. Now you're 'ere, 'e may as well shout us both while 'e's at it."

"You-you were going to be executed?"

"Not just me now mate. You 'ad to go and feel guilty, and now you're just as caught up in this as I am. You said you would die? Well it looks like you're going to get your wish."

LeBeau felt his knees weaken, and he sat on the cold floor before they gave out and he fell. As he leaned back, he felt his head touch the cot and he used it for support. After all he had gone through to get here, he had done nothing except to give the Gestapo even more satisfaction from their firing squad. He had tried to save Newkirk, but now they were both going to die. Some rescue.

"I was a fool," he muttered, then his voice grew stronger, "I was a fool to think that I could walk in here to rescue you, and that you would want my help. I was a fool not to see that what I have done to you is beyond fixing. I have broken our friendship. I am glad that I will die for it. I only wish that you did not also have to suffer for my errors."

As Newkirk listened to his friend's speech, and heard the over-whelming honesty in his words, his bitterness softened slightly.

"It's not your fault Louis," he tried to withhold his anger to comfort his friend, "It was a load of rotten luck on our part and some bloody krauts who decided to play dirty. We've always made it out clean and clear before 'aven't we? There was bound to be one time where things didn't go our way."

"I will never forgive myself for allowing this to happen," the French corporal was boiling with anger and guilt, "Never."

Sighing heavily, Newkirk carefully reached over to place his good hand on LeBeau's shoulder.

"Listen mate," nearly all traces of anger were gone from his voice now, "We've only got about an hour left. This is going to be the last time we see each other. Do you really want to spend your last hour arguing about who's to blame?"

Turning his head up to meet Newkirk's gaze, LeBeau could hardly believe his ears. It was not like Newkirk to be sentimental or forgiving. When he voiced these thoughts however, Newkirk shrugged.

"Guess I figure that time is short when you're dying, and you should make the most of it."

For some reason, that actually made sense, and LeBeau nodded. He thought for a moment as he looked up at his oldest friend. Newkirk was right. Did it really matter who was to blame? All that mattered was that he was with his friend, and they would share their last moments together as they had shared everything else. A small smile appeared on his face.

"Do you remember when Klink bought that cat, to get rid of all the mice? It started chasing Felix around the camp, with André following after them. And then Felix ran past the laundry, and André ran into the clothesline-"

"-fell into a bucket of dirty water and got his silly ass stuck in it! 'Course I remember! I was one of the five lads it took to pull him out!"

The two corporals laughed, and for a moment, they forgot about the events of the outside world. All thoughts of betrayal, abandonment, treachery, and even firing squads, were forgotten. For a moment.


	12. Chapter 12

_Note: As always, please read & review! This one's kind of slow and short, but I needed a whole chapter for all the action that's coming up!_

"See him Carter?" asked Colonel Hogan quietly.

The duo knelt a few feet from the tree stump, waiting for LeBeau to appear.

"No sir. Maybe he already went in?" Carter knew better of course, but he didn't want to face Hogan with the truth until he had to.

"Or maybe the krauts grabbed him, and now he's locked up somewhere! But how the hell would we know, 'cause he had to go run off by himself!"

Carter glanced sideways at the colonel, shocked. It wasn't like Hogan to have outbursts like that. Something had him on edge, and Carter was willing to bet it wasn't just LeBeau.

"Are you ok sir?"

As always, Hogan was a little startled by his young sergeant's occasional intuitiveness.

"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Suddenly remembering that he was speaking to his commanding officer, not just one of his buddies, Carter stared at the ground uncomfortably as he spoke.

"You just seemed a little...edgy, sir."

Hogan sighed wearily.

"I guess I am Carter. Too many aspects of this situation are out of my control, it's making me a little nervous."

This appeared to satisfy Carter, for he nodded and continued to pretend to watch for LeBeau. Thinking the conversation was over, Hogan did the same. Then suddenly, Carter spoke again.

"Do you really think he did it sir?"

Hogan didn't need to ask who "he" was. It was the same person who had been like a constant presence in his mind ever since they had left Gestapo headquarters. What he didn't know was the answer to Carter's question. At the time, his actions had made perfect sense to him. He had heard Newkirk's voice, and it was irrefutable proof.

Or was it? He knew better than anyone how easy it was to simply doctor a recorded voice until it suited his needs. How had he not thought of that before? Why was it so glaringly obvious now? Maybe Newkirk wasn't guilty, maybe someone else betrayed them, maybe...maybe he had left one of his men at the mercy of the Gestapo.

The realisation hit Hogan like an electric shock. His whole body felt frozen. What had he done? The recording had made him angry, and he had let his emotions rule his decision-making. That was something he had always hated about some of his superior officers. It was the mark of a bad commander, an unfit leader. And now he found himself guilty of it. What was worse, one of his men might well die from his foolishness. He had to fix it. Somehow, he had to make it right.

When Hogan finally recovered his powers of speech, he found that he had an answer for Carter.

"No Carter," he sounded a little dazed, even to himself, "I don't."

Turning to face the other man, he saw first shock, then delight on Carter's young face.

"You really mean it sir?" Carter's tongue almost tripped over the words in his excitement.

"Yes I do," Hogan came to a decision quickly, and immediately moved towards the tree stump, "Now come on. We'll meet up with Kinch and LeBeau, and then we'll go and get him."

Carter scrambled after him, and they slipped into the tunnel almost simultaneously. Hogan's feet barely touched the ground before he took off in search of Kinch.

"Kinch! Kinch!"

It took only seconds before the American sergeant came barrelling around the corner towards them.

"Colonel! Carter! Oh thank God!"

Grinning, Carter was enveloped in a bear hug from the taller sergeant.

"Good to see you to buddy!" He laughed at Kinch's exuberance.

Kinch joined in Carter's delighted laughter for a moment before suddenly realizing something.

"Where are LeBeau and Newkirk?"

Feeling the latter name as a knife in his heart, Hogan focussed only on the former for a moment.

"What do you mean? Isn't LeBeau here already?"

"No sir," Kinch frowned, "Should he be?"

Carter cleared his throat nervously.

"Well sir, you see, I couldn't tell you before, because LeBeau said you'd stop him, and he really needed to go, and I said I'd go with him, but he said I needed to stay so that he would have time to get away, so I stayed, but now that you want to go to, I can probably tell you now."

Almost panting from saying it all in one breath, Carter smiled at the other two. Both Kinch and Hogan simply looked dumbstruck.

"Tell me what Carter?" Hogan had barely even understood what the younger man had said.

Carter's smile slipped slightly as he realized he would have to actually explain.

"LeBeau didn't guard the door like I said he did. And he didn't head back early like I said he did either. He-he went back to town to get Newkirk out."

Hogan supposed he should feel angry at the little Frenchman, and at Carter, for deceiving him, but instead he could only feel relief and a little bit of inadequacy. Yes, LeBeau and Carter were two of Newkirk's closest friends, but he felt much reduced by being the last man to realize Newkirk's innocence.

Kinch's voice suddenly broke through Hogan's reverie.

"What do you mean, get him out? Where is he?"

The other two exchanged shameful glances before Hogan answered.

"He's in Gestapo headquarters."

Admitting it to Kinch was ten times harder than admitting it to himself, but Hogan pressed on.

"We-we left him there."

Hogan did not expect the sudden explosion from Kinch.

"What? But he's innocent!" Kinch's head swivelled as he looked back and forth incredulously between the other two men, "He didn't do it! It wasn't him!"

"We didn't know for sure Kinch, and they had evidence that seemed very real at the time," Hogan sighed, "I was angry, and I made the wrong decision. I will never for-"

Something occurred to Hogan suddenly.

"How did you know it wasn't him Kinch?"

As Kinch explained the information he had received from Jinx, Hogan and Carter's jaws dropped further and further. Carter's young face filled with horror as he heard this confirmation of the awful thing they had done to one of their friends.

"Colonel, we-we-"

"I know Carter," Hogan nodded, also filled with more guilt than he thought possible. Before, he had known that there was still the possibility that Newkirk really had betrayed them, even when they had decided to go after him. Now he knew that they had most certainly betrayed the Englishman's friendship, "We have to go get him Kinch. And LeBeau."

Kinch nodded quickly.

"I've alerted the boys in Barracks 3 already that you probably wouldn't be back for roll call. They'll start a fire in the barracks, it'll distract the krauts for a while if they can make it good enough."

"Good thinking," Hogan turned to Carter. They had been on the move for a long time now, and while he himself was quite prepared to move on as fast as they could, he couldn't speak for Carter, "Did you need a break before we head out?"

The sergeant stared back at him, grim determination now masking his previous fatigue.

"Let's go bring them home sir. Now."

The colonel nodded, and with that the three men disappeared up the tunnel in search of their missing comrades.

88888888

Newkirk blinked his eyes open tiredly. He wasn't sure what had woken him up as nothing in the cell had changed as far as he could see. Still lonely, still slightly chilled, still empty and still windowless. He sighed, and the utter solitude of the place threatened to engulf him. Shifting position slightly, he felt the cold air swirl around him, the thin blanket on the cot scratch him, LeBeau's warm back behind him-LeBeau?

Spinning swiftly around, Newkirk gasped as his arms shot out instinctively to catch the little Frenchman as he toppled backwards. It hadn't been a dream, LeBeau really was here with him!

"Get your filthy bosche hands off of me!" LeBeau shouted, frantically pushing Newkirk away.

Quickly retreating to the far corner of the cot, Newkirk realized that at least part of it had been a dream. The real LeBeau still hated him as a traitor.

But after LeBeau extricated himself from Newkirk's arms, he turned and got a good look at the man who he had fallen asleep leaning on. Immediately, his anger faded and was replaced by apologies.

"Pierre!" he exclaimed, "Oh mon ami, I am so sorry. I thought you were the bosche coming to take us away."

As elated as Newkirk was that indeed it wasn't a dream and LeBeau didn't hate him, this excitement quickly faded as he remembered why he was here. And the fate that awaited them both.

"S'all right Louis," he muttered dejectedly.

Concerned, LeBeau moved closer to place his hand on Newkirk's shoulder.

"I didn't mean it," he tried to explain, "I swear!"

Newkirk shook his head.

"I know Louis. I was just thinking about...sunset."

"Ah."

Embarrassed at such an emotional display, Newkirk turned his face so LeBeau wouldn't see how red it had become. He looked wildly around the cell, trying to find something to say.

"They couldn't put one ruddy window in 'ere?" he said breathlessly, desperate to break the silence.

"Why?" LeBeau questioned, "What did you want to see?"

Newkirk thought for a moment. Why did he want to look out a window and see all the things he would never experience again?

"Be nice to know what time it is, that's all," he answered quietly.

"You want to know when they are coming to kill us?" LeBeau raised a confused eyebrow.

Newkirk sighed.

"I just 'ate waiting 'ere like this. Never could stand in line-ups. Even when it's me own death I'm waiting for, I still wish they'd just 'urry up and get it over with."

LeBeau patted his friend's back slowly.

"Let them wait as long as they like Pierre. As long as they like."


	13. Chapter 13

_Note: This one is VERY short, but good I hope! I think the little bit of French is right, but please correct me if I'm wrong. As always, please R&R!_

They snuck out of the tunnel, moving quickly and quietly through the woods. Hogan led the way, with Carter and Kinch close behind. Speed was their main concern, and they spent only a minimal effort trying to avoid patrols. But with their vast experience of sneaking through the forest, even though they were distracted and anxious they managed to escape detection.

Even as Hogan prayed thanks for this success, he kept a constant eye on the sun. He couldn't help but feel as though they were racing it acrossthe sky. It was low now, very low, and his sense of urgency increased. The back of his neck tingles, as it always did when he got one of his "feelings". He didn't know why, he just knew it was imperative that they rescue Newkirk and LeBeau as quickly as possible.

And so when they finally reached the edge of the woods, and they spotted the small town lying before them, he only allowed the smallest of breathers before pressing on.

_Hang on_, he thought, wishing his men could really hear him. _We're coming._

88888888

The two corporals were deep in thought, crouched next to each other on the cot. Neither would admit it, but both were praying desperately for a way out of this situation. Even Newkirk. Although he was not usually a religious man, facing the certainty of one's own death can have strange effects on a man's beliefs. LeBeau was praying silently, but fervently. He had been raised to believe in God, and he did not give up on Him now. Even if he was no longer sure that God could help them anymore. This time, perhaps no one could.

The strongest reason for the desperation, the praying, and the silence that had invaded the cell, was another thing neither man would admit to the other. They were both sincerely frightened. Putting yourself in danger in the line of duty, in the name of your country and in the service of your loved ones is one thing, but a cold walk to death is quite another. Sitting and waiting, never knowing when the call to die may come was no easy thing for the two corporals. Dying up in the air while bombs from their airplanes rained down below them, or dying while on a mission for the Allies, anything but this.

Would their deaths mean nothing then? What were they accomplishing by dying?

Deep down inside, both men had realized something. They died protecting the operation, they died protecting their friends and they died protecting their cause. It seemed so meaningless because the act itself required no real effort. All they had to do was walk out of this building. What this mission required was sacrifice, and of the worst kind. This seemed like a simple mission, for it required no planning or any action really. But in reality, they could think of nothing more difficult.

As they had no way of telling the time, LeBeau and Newkirk were unprepared for the Gestapo's arrival. The moment they heard the key turning in the lock, their nerves got the best of them and both nearly jumped out of their skins.

For now their time of contemplation was up. Four uniformed men filed into the cell and proceeded to shackle both men's hands and feet. Neither said a word, but it was not in frightened submission. Somehow, in the moments between the first sound at the door and the cuffs snapping shut on their wrists, the realizations that were buried deep down suddenly surfaced. They remembered who they were dying for, and the cause that they fought for. However they died, they died for their cause, and that was all that mattered.

And so it was in silent defiance that they marched out of the cell. Each step that they took, refusing to show their fright, was like a slap in the face to the guards who attempted to intimidate them.

Even as they were marched out of the building, they did not falter. Even as they smelled the fresh air and the cool breeze and knew it would be the last time they did so, they did not miss a step. Even as they looked ahead to see the line of black-clad men armed with rifles, they pressed onwards. Even as they spotted the stained wall which would be the last thing they saw on this earth, they did not make a sound.

When they spotted the men who had sent them here, Franz and Niklas, however, LeBeau's eyes flashed with hatred. But it was nothing compared with the pure loathing emanating from Newkirk's entire being. The heat of their glares only increased when the Gestapo men's only reaction was to smile indifferently and wave them onwards.

As much as they wanted to drag their feet, both corporals were determined to show no sign of weakness. They moved into position without raising a fuss, and stood quietly as the shackles were removed. Only then did they look at each other.

"Pierre," LeBeau said quietly as he looked into his friend's green eyes, "I am so sorry. For everything. This is all my fault-"

"No Louis," Newkirk cut him off forcefully, "Not this again. It's not your fault. It's theirs."

He jerked his head slightly towards the Gestapo men.

"It always 'as been. It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do, it all comes back to them. I don't blame you, no more n' I blame the Colonel or Carter or Kinch. It took me some time to realize it, but I understand now. I blame those two nosy krauts, the rest of the Gestapo, and I blame Hitler for getting us into this ruddy mess in the first place."

LeBeau shook his head dejectedly, and Newkirk spoke more forcefully.

"You're my best mate Louis! It doesn't matter what 'appened before, you 'ear? I've always counted on you, and if I 'ad a chance to do it again, I'd trust you with my life in a 'eartbeat."

His voice softened, and LeBeau raised his eyes to meet the Englishman's once more.

"I don't want you to die thinking that I blame you Louis. Because I don't. You're like the brother I never 'ad."

LeBeau's downcast expression changed, and suddenly his face was set and determined. Ignoring the guns raising around him, he clasped Newkirk's hands between his own.

"Mon frère (1), I trust you with my life. Even if it may only last a few minutes longer."

They nodded simultaneously, and turned to the wall. The guards on either side of them pushed them to their knees. After one final glance at the other for courage, they both closed their eyes and focussed on happier times. Neither wanted the blood-stained wall in front of them to be the last thought their minds ever had.

So they could only listen as the firing squad arranged itself behind them. Every sound seemed magnified, even the smallest one. Which made the silence that followed the noised of movement even more oppressing. As both men's breathing grew quick and shallow, the seconds seemed to drag by. How much more would they prolong the inevitable?

And then, an ominous clicking noise that could only be made by a gun.

_(1) My brother._


	14. Chapter 14

Newkirk squeezed his eyes tight, waiting for the bullets that would soon be tearing his body apart. Holding his breath, it took him a minute to realize he was still waiting. And then his breath came out in a rush as he heard a voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Hello Fritz," Hogan leaned over the Gestapo captain's shoulder, keeping his gun pressed against the man's back, "Fancy meeting you here."

"It's Franz," the man replied tightly, fear and anger running through his veins.

"Oh, my apologies," Hogan's voice dripped with sarcasm. He was not inclined to be polite after arriving at the building only to see two of his men being lined up for execution.

He pushed his gun tighter, holding the Gestapo captain still. Glancing sideways, he saw that Carter was holding tightly to his own captive. Normally Carter avoided this kind of confrontation, but the sight of two of his best friends being lined up to die had awakened his buried anger. One hand held tightly to his gun, the other was wrapped around Niklas' neck and holding him in a tight headlock. Hogan didn't need to look to know that Kinch would already be in position, ready to start shooting if things went wrong.

"Alright Franz," the Colonel stressed the captain's name heavily, "We're gonna take this nice and easy. You tell your men to back off, and I won't put a hole in your back. Is that clear?"

"Very," Franz spoke through gritted teeth before raising his voice to speak to his men, "Put down your guns! All of you!"

Confused, the execution squad did not immediately lower their weapons.

"Now!"

At this fear ridden yell from their commanding officer, the men put their guns on the ground.

"Very good," Hogan said, "You might make it out of this alive after all. Now I want you to tell two of them to bring my men over here, and tell the rest to stand facing the wall."

"You are insane Hogan!" Franz spat, "I don't know how you got in here, but how are you planning on leaving here with two prisoners in tow?"

"Easy," Hogan tightened his grip further, "I have a foolproof Gestapo insurance policy."

Franz's breath whistled between his teeth as he involuntarily gasped; Hogan's grip was now so tight that his back was bent into a curve. And yet, he resisted the American's instructions. After that first moment of panic, he had regained some of his confidence and was determined to hold out. Everything had gone so well in the beginning of this operation, but it had gradually depleted from bad to worse. It seemed as though the only satisfaction he would get from his hard work would be the execution of these two captives, and he would not let Hogan take that away from him.

"Not as foolproof as you think Hogan," he replied tersely, "What if I were to order them to pick up their guns and start shooting? What is your plan then?"

"Ha!" Hogan scoffed, "Don't make me laugh! You Nazi's are entirely too self-serving to sacrifice yourselves for nothing."

"Hardly nothing Colonel. Maybe I think it would be worth it as a service to the Fatherland, if my death also caused the death of the great Papa Bear!"

Hogan's jaw tightened. His instinct told him the man was bluffing, but what if he wasn't? If he guessed wrongly, LeBeau and Newkirk would not be the only ones to die today. Perhaps it was time to try a different tactic.

"Maybe you have no regard for your own life," Hogan said, "But what will you do if I order my man to put a bullet in your partner?"

Carter's grip tightened in panic. He sent a terrified glance at Hogan, which neither Gestapo captain saw. Was he angry enough to hold a man at gunpoint? Yes. Was he angry enough to kill a man point blank, execution style? Carter didn't know. Fortunately for him, Franz was unconcerned.

"Now it is my turn to say-what is the expression you used?" Franz smiled evilly, "Ah yes. _Don't make me laugh._ You see Colonel, I am not like you. You may think that everyone risks their lives to save their friends, but I am not like you. I look after myself only. Shoot him."

Hogan cursed himself inwardly. He should have known that threatening the other man wouldn't work. These Gestapo men were cold bastards, which led him to believe that his first instincts were indeed correct. It was still a gamble, but if he was right then he had the man good and cornered.

"If, as you say, you are out to save yourself only," Hogan's voice did not betray his nerves, "Then your threat to sacrifice yourself for the Fatherland seems rather empty doesn't it?"

The captain held his tongue. It would seem the battle of wits was lost; the American colonel had called his bluff. But still he could not bring himself to give the order. What would these men do to him once the prisoners were returned to them? By this time however, Hogan was tired of waiting. Knowing that Franz had no more tricks up his sleeve, he repeated his instructions.

"Now that you've had some time to think it over," Hogan kept his tone coldly polite, "Wouldn't you say now would be a good time to release my men?"

Gritting his teeth, Franz nodded once and gave the order.

LeBeau could hardly believe it when he felt himself being pulled to his feet. They had been only moments from death, when out of darkness stepped their salvation. The rest of the gang was here to rescue them, and he had nearly fainted when he had heard Hogan's voice instead of the hail of gunfire he had expected.

He turned to grin at Newkirk, but to his astonishment the Englishman seemed barely lucid. The Gestapo man at his side was struggling to hold him upright, and his wary eyes were half shut. At first LeBeau was puzzled, before remembering that Newkirk had not eaten in days, as well as he had been both physically and mentally tortured. The shock of the sudden rescue must have put him over the edge. And yet LeBeau detected something else as well. There was fear in Newkirk's eyes, and it was directed towards Hogan. At once, LeBeau realized what was going through his friend's mind.

"It is all right Pierre," he whispered, "They are here to rescue us both. I promise you, no one will leave you behind ever again."

Newkirk turned his frightened eyes to rest on LeBeau, and nodded his head tremblingly.

The two of them continued their slow walk towards Hogan and Carter. LeBeau shook off his Gestapo handler after two steps, but let Newkirk's remain as he did not think he could support the much taller Englishman by himself.

Hogan allowed himself a sigh of relief as he watched the pair move gradually closer. So far, so good. Then Newkirk looked up, and their eyes met. The corporal's green eyes were full of fear and questions. Hogan's breath caught in his throat as he tried to convey an apology without words to Newkirk. How could he ever make this up to him? He felt a strong urge to break away from the Englishman's gaze, but just then Newkirk gave him a slight nod. The breath he had been holding left him in a hurry. While he knew that the two of them had a lot to work out, he knew that for now, Newkirk trusted him. And that was enough.

They were nearly there, not ten feet away from Hogan, when it happened. Carter, delighted at seeing his friends again, slackened his grip for a second, which was all Niklas needed to throw off his arms and steal his gun.

Niklas expertly aimed his weapon straight at the man being held by Hogan.

"You selfish bastard!" he yelled.

Just before he pulled the trigger, several things happened at once. Franz wrenched himself from Hogan's grasp and threw himself to the ground. For a moment, Hogan faced the weapon alone, but as Niklas pulled the trigger his vision was obscured by a brown headed blur before he was pushed to the ground. Then he was shoving himself upright, scrambling to reach the side of the man who had leaped in front of him and saved him from harm. He turned the man on his back, not noticing the blood that covered his hands as he did so. All he could do was stare into Newkirk's eyes.

Newkirk stared back, and tried to speak, but found that the words wouldn't come. All he could do was reach a shaking hand out to his commanding officer. Hogan grasped it tightly as Newkirk watched the world fade into blackness. The Colonel held up his corporal's head after he passed out, and prayed that he would keep breathing long enough for Hogan to tell him how sorry he was.

_Note: I know, I know, another cliffhanger! What can I say, I'm a suspense junkie! _

_I am sorry, but I promise this is the last one. As always, please R & R. Every comment is appreciated!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Note: I'm actually ahead of the game this time, and I've already written about a page of the next chapter! So hopefully you can expect a quicker update this time. =)_

LeBeau knelt at Newkirk's head, holding it up after the Englishman lost consciousness. He stared at his friend's face, wanting to assess the damage but frightened that the sight of the blood would make him pass out. They had been so close to getting out, to being free once again. Newkirk had to make it out. After all that had happened to him, he didn't deserve anymore.

"Here LeBeau, grab his feet!"

Hogan's tense voice snapped Louis out of his shock. He looked up, away from Newkirk, and saw Niklas lying dead on the ground. The men in the firing squad had backed away against the wall. For a moment, he wondered why they hadn't tried to pick up their guns, but then a hail of gunfire burst from somewhere off to the side. Of course, he thought, Kinch must be hiding nearby. One of the men had suddenly run for his weapon, and Kinch had taken a warning shot in the dirt in front of the man. That was all the rest of them needed to face the wall and not even think about going after their weapons again. Something about a hidden gunman with uncanny accuracy kept them rooted in their spots.

"LeBeau!"

His eyes snapped back to the task at hand. Immediately he wished he hadn't looked, for his eyes were drawn to the crimson liquid spilling from his friend's shoulder. Nausea instantly filled his gut, but he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He had to fight this phobia; he would be no good to Newkirk if he fainted. Keeping his eyes shut as much as possible, he shuffled backwards and took hold of both feet. He had to open his eyes now, but he looked left towards the Gestapo men.

He felt rather than saw Hogan lift the Englishman's shoulders, and corresponded by pushing up with his legs. Normally even half of the Englishman's weight would have been too much for the small Frenchman, but necessity pumped adrenaline through his veins and he managed to lift his friend.

As Kinch continued to keep the Germans at bay, the two men manoeuvred Newkirk away from the Gestapo building and into the alley way. The impossibility of the situation hit LeBeau. They were in the middle of town, right next to Gestapo headquarters, and they had to somehow carry Newkirk miles back to camp.

"Colonel," he puffed from exertion, "What are...we going...to do now?"

Hogan simply looked at him for a moment, gathering his breath.

"Carter!" he yelled over LeBeau's shoulder.

LeBeau turned his head. In his hurry to help Newkirk, he had almost forgotten about Carter. The young sergeant had his arm around Franz's neck, his gun pointing into the Gestapo Captain's back. His hand trembled slightly, but his face was determined. He had followed them into the alley, and looked at the Colonel for instruction.

"We need a car," Hogan said to him.

"Ummm...right," Carter mumbled, "Car. Sure. Ummm, what do I with him Colonel?"

Carter gestured to the man in his arms. Hogan frowned for a moment before replying.

"Here LeBeau, set him down."

Together, they leaned Newkirk up against the wall. All four men looked up as Kinch let off more shots to keep the firing squad in place.

"Switch with Carter," Hogan instructed, "Keep him against the wall."

LeBeau nodded and took the gun from Carter, who removed his headlock and took off down the alley. Using the gun to give direction, he forced the Captain to put his face against the brick building. Even though the Frenchman was a much smaller man, Franz's terror of being shot kept him in place. But LeBeau had a better idea of how to keep the German from running away.

"Colonel?"

"What?" Hogan replied tersely, distracted by his attempts to apply pressure to Newkirk's wound.

"Is there any particular reason why you would need this man to be conscious?"

Franz squirmed a little in LeBeau's grasp. Hogan looked at the man who was responsible for so many of their troubles.

"No," he stated before turning back to Newkirk.

With that, LeBeau brought his gun down sharply on the other man's temple. Franz crumpled immediately, and LeBeau pulled him over to lie face down on the ground beside Newkirk. He tucked the weapon into his waistband, and knelt beside his friend. Hogan's hands were pressing on his shoulder, and by now they were drenched in blood. That made LeBeau breathe in sharply, but he found that it didn't bother him as much as it normally would. Maybe it was because Newkirk needed him. He still felt nauseous, but he felt no urge to pass out. However he didn't think he had it in him yet to place his hands on the actual wound and put pressure on it as Hogan was doing, so instead he took his friend's other hand in his own.

Newkirk's face had paled considerably, and was now a nasty shade of grey that was accentuated by his shallow breathing. It appeared that the Colonel had managed to stem the bleeding, but Newkirk was in no condition to lose that much blood. The British Corporal was dehydrated and undernourished, not to mention that he had already broken the same arm that had been shot. He needed a medic, and soon.

Thankfully they didn't have to wait long for Carter. A few minutes after he left a car appeared at the entrance to the alley and honked twice. What made Hogan and LeBeau's jaws drop, however, was it wasn't just a normal car. Somehow Carter had managed to find a fully equipped ambulance. They got over the initial shock quickly, and Carter jumped out of the driver's seat to help them load the two unconscious men.

"I don't know how you do it Carter," Hogan shook his head as they dumped Franz heavily into the back.

"Well it was easy!" Carter exclaimed, pulling out a stretcher for Newkirk as he spoke, "There's a hospital right up the street, and they left the keys in, so I just hopped in and took off."

They wheeled the contraption over, and gently lifted Newkirk onto it. Leaving the other two to load it back into the vehicle, Hogan went to signal Kinch. They would have to make a fast break, it wouldn't be long for the firing squad to realize no one was there.

He leaned around the corner of the Gestapo building so he could see the rooftop that sat one down from it. Then he curled his lip in slightly and made a low whistle that resonated softly between the buildings. He spotted a dark shape moving towards him on the shingles, and he knew Kinch was on his way. With one last glance at the firing squad to confirm that they were still frozen in place, he returned to the ambulance. Carter was just coming around the front from closing the back door. Hogan noticed that they had also tossed the unconscious Franz in the back of the vehicle as well.

"All set?" Hogan asked as he moved to the passenger's door.

"Yes sir," Carter answered, slipping into the driver' seat.

"LeBeau?" Hogan shut the door behind him tightly.

"In the back with Newkirk."

Carter's voice sounded shaken when he said the Englishman's name. Although he had no confidence in the words he said, Hogan tried to reassure him.

"Newkirk's tough Carter. He'll be alright."

The younger man nodded slowly, but Hogan could tell he wasn't convinced. Well, neither was Hogan. And he knew that the worst part was that it was their entire fault.

Suddenly the passenger door opened next to Hogan, and he jumped slightly before realizing it was only Kinch. The sergeant slipped in next to him.

"An ambulance Carter?" Kinch asked, "How do you manage it?"

Carter laughed distractedly, for he was focused on putting the vehicle in gear. He eased the van away from the alley and joined the sparse evening traffic. The traffic light in front of him turned red, and he pulled to a stop in front of it. Hogan sent a fleeting glance at Kinch, who shrugged. Oblivious to the other's judgement of his actions, Carter stared straight ahead, patiently waiting for the green light.

"Uhm, Carter?" Hogan tried to hint, "Now's not exactly the best time to obey the traffic laws."

Carter looked stricken.

"But Colonel, I can't just go racing down the streets! They'd be on us in a second!"

Hogan sucked in his breath. For once, Carter was right. They had get out of town fast, but they couldn`t afford to draw attention to themselves. The light turned green, and Carter let the vehicle move forward.

"We have to get out," Hogan tried to talk out the problem, "We have to do it quickly, and we have to do it so we won't attract the Gestapo. Not to mention we have to get through the roadblocks on our way."

"Can't we walk after we get to the woods, and avoid the roadblocks?" Kinch asked.

"No," Hogan shook his head, "Newkirk's in a really bad way Kinch. He won't be walking anywhere for a while."

Kinch's eyes widened. From his position on the rooftop, he hadn't been able to see much of what the others had been doing. He had been too focused on keeping the firing squad at bay, he hadn't realized how much trouble Newkirk was in.

"So what do we do then sir?"

Hogan sighed, running his hand over his head.

"I really don't know Kinch."

All of a sudden, Carter perked up. He looked excited, but nervous too. Then he gave Hogan the look he always used when he was talking about his explosives.

"Colonel, I have an idea."


	16. Chapter 16

_Note: This chapter and the one before it have been edited slightly as I just realized I goofed on something rather important. For those who have already read this chapter, it's not a huge change so I will make a note of the changes at the end. I just don't want to spoil it for those who haven't read it yet._

Hogan sighed

"Every time you say that Carter, I start to worry."

"No really, it's good!" Carter cried indignantly, "Look there, in the footlocker by your feet. I just bet that there are spare medic uniforms in there."

Surprised at Carter's ingenuity, Hogan began to realize what the sergeant was getting at and found himself nodding along.

"And then we tell the guards at the road blocks that there's an emergency at Stalag 13, and we didn't have time to get papers."

"You know Carter," Hogan leaned down to inspect the footlocker, and found the uniforms waiting there, "That just might work."

"But it doesn't get us out of town any faster," Kinch, always the voice of reason, countered him.

"I thought of that to!" Carter exclaimed and started to grin excitedly.

Hogan raised an eyebrow.

"All right, now I'm nervous."

Carter just grinned and reached over to flip a switch on the dash. Suddenly the quiet evening was broken by a loud siren. Carter stepped on the gas pedal, and they sped through the town while other travellers dodged left and right to make way for them.

Hogan couldn't help but laugh, and clapped Carter on the back.

"Well done Carter!"

"Thank you sir," Carter was still grinning, "It was nothing really."

"Nothing? It was brilliant. But here, you need to change."

Carter shifted carefully across the seat, and Hogan took over the controls of the vehicle. With a little help from Kinch and a lot of twisting and bending, Carter managed to pull on the medic's uniform despite the enclosed space. Then he switched back with Hogan, who also changed uniform. The uniforms weren't a bad fit, Hogan's a little tight in the shoulders, and Carter's a little loose.

They were nearing the outskirts of town now, and could see the checkpoint ahead. Carter didn't slow until they were nearly upon it, then he braked hard. The guard walked over to the driver's window, and Hogan shifted slightly. Kinch was hiding by his feet, and for a moment it looked as though his foot was showing. No matter what uniform Kinch put on, there was simply no way he could pass as German.

The guard asked for papers, and Carter slipped into flawless German as he explained that they had been sent on General Burkhalter's personal orders to Stalag 13. Unfortunately, the General had not had time to equip them with papers because their mission was so urgent. In fact, Colonel Klink himself was apparently injured.

"And you know of course," Carter spoke confidently, "That Colonel Klink is a great personal friend of the General. You would not want to hold up his recovery would you? Because I can assure you, if Klink goes, we all go!"

Thankfully the guard was a nervous type, and he ran to remove the roadblock so the ambulance could slip through. As soon as they were clear, Carter punched the gas and they took off.

Meanwhile, LeBeau sat in the back with Newkirk. He had found a roll of bandages and wrapped it around his friend's arm, and the bleeding had slowed some. But the bleeding wasn't what worried LeBeau. He had very carefully inspected Newkirk's shoulder, turning him over to look for an exit wound. There wasn't one, meaning the bullet was still lodged in the shoulder. Which made it all the more imperative that they got back to camp as soon as possible. LeBeau was no medic, but he knew that the slightest wrong movement could shift the bullet and cause irreparable internal damage.

He held his breath when he heard Carter's voice speaking German, but released it when they moved forward immediately. The others would get them back to camp, he just had to take care of Newkirk till they got there. Not that there was much he could do. The Englishman was still unconscious, and his face still pale except for the dark bruise on his eye that now stood out starkly. All he could do was sit next to him, hold his hand and pray.

He could tell that they were flying down the road now. When they turned onto the road to Stalag 13, he thanked God that Klink had had them out there filling potholes the week before. Every small bump that they hit jostled Newkirk's shoulder despite LeBeau's attempts to support him. Then suddenly the ambulance pulled to a stop. LeBeau instinctively knew that they were not yet at the Stalag, but had come as close as they dared in the vehicle. From here they would go on foot.

The back hatch popped open, and Carter jumped inside. Together they rolled Newkirk's stretcher back until it was at the end of the van. Kinch then grabbed the end and hauled it out. They were at the edge of the woods, and LeBeau noticed that they were closer to camp than he had thought. Normally they wouldn't risk taking a vehicle this close, so Hogan must be worried.

"What do we do with him sir?" Carter asked, nodding at the Gestapo captain lying on the floor of the ambulance.

"Tie him up to the van," Hogan ordered, "The underground can pick him and the van up later on.

Carter complied, and quickly used the sleeves from his medic's jacket to restrain Franz.

"We'll have to carry him," Hogan stated when Carter returned, gesturing at Newkirk.

"But Colonel," cried LeBeau, "If we move his shoulder the wrong way, he could bleed to death!"

"We don't have a choice. There's no way we can move that stretcher through the woods and not get caught."

The others reluctantly accepted this, and they carefully balanced Newkirk's weight between them. Despite their best efforts, they couldn't help but jostle him. They froze instantly, waiting for the corporal to cry out in pain and the blood to start flowing freely again. Fortunately, the bleeding didn't increase more than a trickle. Newkirk however didn't make a sound.

The other four men exchanged glances. From their experience with lodged bullet wounds, they knew that almost any movement at all caused more pain than they wanted to think about. Especially when the wound was in the shoulder. They hadn't meant to aggravate the wound, but a bump like that probably should have woken Newkirk up.

"Hurry," Hogan ordered worriedly, "Try to be gentle with him, but hurry."

"What about the car?" asked Kinch.

"The underground can take care of it later. Let's go!"

They took off into the night, making their way as fast as possible towards Stalag 13. It was slow going, for the woods were thick and the ground uneven. But they supported Newkirk on their shoulders as best they could. He wasn't terribly heavy, he'd always been thin and the recent trauma hadn't helped that. It was this and his height, not to mention that they could only grasp one of his arms, which made carrying him awkward.

As they got closer to camp, they had to walk even slower. Klink still had patrols out looking for Newkirk, and they had to be careful to avoid them. It didn't help that Kinch was the only one wearing blacks. What LeBeau still wore of his Gestapo could almost pass, but Hogan and Carter still wore medic uniforms and Newkirk was in civvies. Simply blending into the darkness was not an option.

And so they all breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the tree stump entrance to the tunnel. Luckily, most of the patrols were concentrated on the other side of camp. Hogan thanked God for his foresight in suggesting to Klink that Newkirk would be heading for England, so what was the point of looking for him east of camp?

"Kinch go down first," Hogan whispered, "We'll hand him down to you."

After waiting for the searchlight to pass by, Kinch slipped inside. The other waited for it once more and then they moved quickly. They eased Newkirk carefully into the tunnel, with Kinch grabbing his feet and holding him up down below. Another pass of the light, and the last three followed.

They were home. Back in the tunnel, back on home ground. And yet none of them felt safe. Before Hogan could say anything, LeBeau had already taken off down the tunnel. Carter and Hogan joined Kinch and hauled Newkirk to the other end, closer to the barracks. They dragged out one of the cots commonly used by escaping prisoners in transit, and placed it in an open area. Seconds later, LeBeau returned followed by Wilson.

The medic wasted no time, motioning for the men to place the injured corporal on the cot, then back away to let him work. He stripped Newkirk of his shirt with LeBeau's aid, and quickly inspected the wound. After a few moments, Wilson looked up and met Hogan's eyes.

"I'll need some alcohol sir. Strong. He'll probably wake up soon, and this is gonna hurt."

_Note: I hope the descriptions of the bullet wound are ok. I have no medical background and I've never been shot, so I'm pretty much guessing. Anyways, as always please read & review!_

_As for the edits made, basically the Heroes bring Franz along with them in the ambulance instead of mysteriously forgetting him in the alley. When they leave the ambulance behind, they tie Franz to the van and leave him for the Underground to pick up later._


	17. Chapter 17

_Note: Hope all the medical stuff is at least close to being right! Please read and review!_

Hogan sent Carter up to his footlocker to get the bottle of whisky that he kept there. He had never used it for medicinal purposes before, but they didn't have any other form of painkiller. Even for them, morphine was hard to come by.

"I need hot water," Wilson didn't ask, he was so focused on Newkirk, "And I need clean bandages."

"LeBeau, boil some water," Hogan directed.

The French corporal ran upstairs immediately, wanting to help his friend but not eager to stick around for the surgical procedures. He had managed to hold back his fear of blood in order to get Newkirk back here, but he didn't care to push it. Kinch hovered nearby, unsure of what he should do. Newkirk was in Wilson's hands now. Then Hogan waved him over.

"I need you to get the underground on the radio," he spoke quietly, not wishing to distract Wilson, "Tell them about the ambulance and tell them to get the Gestapo captain out of Germany."

Kinch nodded in acknowledgement.

"And ask them if they can blow the Gestapo building. Those two kept records of their information, we have to make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

Kinch nodded once again, and then headed to the radio room.

Hogan hated leaving things like this to the underground. Destroying Gestapo headquarters could put a lot of agents at risk, but it couldn't be helped. After everything that had happened today, he couldn't ask his men to go back out. Especially with Newkirk hanging by a thread.

"How's he doing Wilson?" Hogan asked, moving closer to stand by the medic.

"Not great," Wilson sighed, "But not to terrible either."

"You said he might wake up soon?" Hogan wondered about that as he gazed down at the unresponsive man on the cot.

"I'm not positive," Wilson answered. He had taken his hands off Newkirk now, there was nothing more he could do till he had the bandages and the liquor, "I think that the bullet was the final straw. His body was overloaded from everything he's been through lately, and passing out was his body's way of dealing with it."

"Shouldn't he have woken up by now if that was the case?"

"I think the blood loss may have had something to do with that. Plus he's probably exhausted. From what I can tell though, you managed to stop the bleeding pretty quickly, so I would bet on him coming 'round any minute."

Despite this positive prediction, Wilson didn't sound overly happy about it.

"That's a good thing though isn't it?" Hogan asked, confused by Wilson's tone.

"Yes, and then again, no. Recovery wise, it probably is a good thing. I'd be worried if he didn't wake up. But it's gonna make taking the bullet out a helluva lot harder. Somehow it managed to get stuck under a bone, it probably shifted when you brought him in."

"Is that bad?"

"I wouldn't say that it threatens his life any more than it did before. It's just gonna hurt a lot more to take out."

Hogan nodded in understanding as he peered down at Newkirk. The man's arm was a mess, the shoulder torn open and the forearm bent slightly where it had been broken. Wilson noticed him looking at the bend.

"I'll have to reset it. Something moved it out of place, but as long as it hasn't been long after, it shouldn't be that bad to fix."

"Did we do that to?" Hogan was stricken, horrified that even their best efforts were causing Newkirk more pain.

"Maybe, maybe not. It could just as easily have happened at the impact of the bullet, or if he fell on it. But don't worry about it. It's a complication, yes, but not a big one. You guys did the best you could. He'll be fine."

"Will he keep the arm?" Hogan asked now that he could see the extent of the damage.

"I think so. He might lose some mobility in his shoulder, but as long as he hasn't picked up an infection along the way...well, it'd be nice to get some penicillin."

"I'll get Kinch to ask London for a drop straight away."

"That'd be great sir. But from what I can tell, he's going to make a full recovery. His arm might be busted up, but-"

"S'all right Guv. No one really needs two arms anyways."

Both men looked in shock at Newkirk, who looked back through tired but bright eyes. Before either could recover however, Carter came bounding down the ladder.

"I've got the whisky and LeBeau boiled the bandages so they're clean, and..." Carter trailed off when he saw the others faces, but as soon as he realized what was happening he nearly hit the roof, "Newkirk! You're awake! Oh boy am I glad to see you! I mean, I saw you before, but now you're awake and you're here and you're safe and-"

"Carter please!" Newkirk raised his voice to be heard above the American's rambling speech, "Give a man a chance to wake up before you talk 'is ruddy ear off, why don't you?"

Carter started to apologize, but Newkirk waved him off as he started to sit up. Using his good arm brought him halfway there, before Wilson pushed him back down on the cot.

"Easy there," Wilson ordered, "No sitting up just yet. How do you feel?"

Newkirk gave him a wry smile, but lay back on the cot without argument.

"Well doc, it's the strangest thing, but my arm seems to be 'urting a small bit."

"Must not be hurting enough, it hasn't harmed your sense of humour," Wilson rolled his eyes.

"So what's the diagnosis?" Newkirk asked.

Abruptly Kinch walked into the makeshift emergency room, holding a return message from the underground in his hands.

"Message back from the underground Colonel- Hey Newkirk! How're you feeling?"

"Hey Kinch," Newkirk grinned, "Been better."

"I'd bet," Kinch answered wryly, "You look like hell Peter."

"Thanks for that," Newkirk laughed.

Hogan watched this exchange just as he had watched Carter and Newkirk's. Both men had no problem talking with Newkirk, joking with him like nothing had happened. All he could think about was Newkirk's injuries, and how each one was his fault. He couldn't even look at Newkirk, for fear of seeing the blame he felt reflected back at him.

"What's the message Kinch?" Hogan interrupted, his eyes on Kinch only.

"Oh right," Kinch turned his attention back to the Colonel, "The underground said they'll take care of the ambulance and the package right away, and the building as soon as possible."

Hogan nodded, but Newkirk looked confused.

"Ambulance?" he asked.

"Well we had to get you back here somehow didn't we?" Kinch answered, grinning.

Newkirk raised his eyebrows, and was about to ask more questions, but Wilson interrupted.

"All right, all right, visiting hours are over," the medic took the alcohol and bandages from Carter as he spoke, "This man has a broken arm and a bullet in his shoulder which I need to take out now."

"What did you say doc?" Newkirk asked nervously.

"I said I have to take a bullet out of you," Wilson set up his med kit next to the cot, "And I'm warning you right now, it's going to hurt. Here, drink this."

Wilson poured a very generous glass of whisky, which Newkirk drained quickly. Normally Wilson would have poured another glass or even two, but in Newkirk's weak, underfed state he probably wouldn't be able to hold his liquor as well as he usually did. The alcohol took effect almost instantly, and Newkirk smiled angelically at Wilson.

"Th-thought you s-said this was going to 'urt doc," Newkirk grinned, slurring slightly, "This feels grand."

At that moment LeBeau joined them from upstairs, bringing the hot water with him. After cautiously peeking to make sure there wasn't any blood, he spotted Newkirk.

"Pierre!" he cried, "You are awake at last! I was beginning to think you were going to leave me here with _ces Américains_!"

"Le-LeBeau! Me old mate!" Newkirk smiled happily as he spoke, "They're not all b-bad you know. In f-f-fact, this chap 'ere says 'e's gonna fix me up all pretty, for all the pr-pretty fr-fr-frauleins!"

LeBeau, on the other hand, looked stricken.

"What is wrong with him?"

"I think I gave him too much whisky," replied Wilson, both amused and anxious, "But seriously, you can all catch up later. Right now, I need to work."

"Come on guys," ordered Hogan, "Let's leave Wilson to it."

As soon as he spoke, Newkirk turned his head towards him and Hogan couldn't help but look. Their eyes met, and for a moment Newkirk looked completely sober. Hogan found that he was fixed to the spot, unable to break away from Newkirk's stare. Guilt overwhelmed him, and he couldn't find his voice to say something. Then Newkirk turned away abruptly, and Hogan let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He felt rather than saw the other men's stares on him, and he turned away from Newkirk, intending to head upstairs with the rest.

"Actually sir," Wilson said, "It would be good if one of you could stay behind. I'm not sure how well the whisky will work, and if I need help holding him down..."

Hogan nodded, glancing at Wilson as he spoke but trying to somehow look past Newkirk.

"Kinch, stay and help Wilson if he needs."

"Umm sir?" Kinch replied, "The underground wanted a reply right away."

"I'll take care of it myself," Hogan decided.

Normally Kinch was rather protective of his radio duties, but he just nodded and moved closer to the cot. Something in Hogan's expression told him to just nod and obey.

"You two can head back up to the barracks," Hogan gestured to Carter and LeBeau.

His statement was immediately met with arguments and refusals.

"Hold it, hold it," Hogan said, "I just don't think Newkirk would want an audience for this, okay?"

They both nodded reluctantly before heading up the ladder. Meanwhile Hogan made his way to the radio room. He had to send a message to London for penicillin, and then contact the underground. Likely they wanted advice on how best to take out Gestapo headquarters. He had a couple of ideas formulating in his mind, but none of them could fully take shape. The look that Newkirk had given him was haunting him again and again in his mind. Seeing the judgement in his eyes was making Hogan feel worse than ever.

Suddenly he heard a yell of pain. He winced as he imagined what Newkirk must be going through. He nearly gagged as he remembered it was all because of him.


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing he felt was pain. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, but he could definitely feel. A throbbing ache pulsed in his arm, all the way up his shoulder. For some reason he thought he should be grateful that that was all he felt. Deep in his semi-conscious mind was a memory of terrible, mind-numbing pain that had quickly and suddenly turned everything black. Wilson had been there, and Kinch to. Another memory, this time of strong hands on his chest, holding him down as he struggled desperately to get away from the pain.

Slowly, very slowly, he sensed the rest of his body coming to life. He could feel other things besides the pain, like the cot under his back or the cool air around him. And he could hear voices, pitched low but still within his range of hearing.

"Did you get the aspirin Louis?"

That was Wilson, he recognized the concerned tones.

"Oui. I have it here. And water."

"Good, good. I think he's starting to come 'round. Any idea when Carter will be back?"

"Any minute I should think. He did not have far to go, and _le Colonel _told London to make this priority for tonight."

He heard a soft chuckle, and would've joined in had he been able to. He wished he could voice his thoughts, but Wilson did it for him.

"Wish I could've been a bug on the wall for that conversation. I imagine they weren't all that happy about dropping everything to deliver penicillin."

"_Non_. But they were also not happy when _le Colonel_ told them we would have to shut down operations if we lost Newkirk."

His brain registered shock at that. Did Hogan really mean that? It sure hadn't felt like it earlier today.

"Really?"

"Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. I do not think we would shut down completely, but there is no way we could keep up everything we do now. Not without Pierre. He is such an important part of what we do, and there are few men with talents such as his. I do not think he could be replaced."

For a few minutes after that, he lost track of the conversation. It sounded like Hogan was pulling a lot of strings for him. That must mean that Hogan finally believed his innocence, or he wouldn't have come back for him. Would he?

Newkirk twitched, suddenly frightened. What if the Colonel had only come back to save LeBeau? Maybe Hogan had never had any intention of saving him until he jumped in front of that bullet. He had seen the deranged Gestapo man's hand on the trigger and acted on instinct. What if the only reason the Colonel had taken him back as well was because he felt obligated? Were they only making him better so that he could face a court martial, or so they could throw him back to the krauts?

He moaned softly, and immediately felt the other two men gather around him. There was a hand on his forehead, and his eyes blinked as he realized he could open them. Wilson's concerned face peered down at him, with LeBeau looking over his shoulder.

"Morning gents," Newkirk whispered, determined to maintain a cocky image.

Both of them grinned.

"Morning?" LeBeau grinned, "Try 'evening' _mon ami_. You slept a long time."

"Evening?"

"Yes," Wilson answered, "We didn't want to wake you."

He reached out of Newkirk's line of vision, bringing back a glass of water and two small pills.

"Aspirin," Wilson explained, "I'm afraid that's all we've got. How's the arm feeling anyway?"

"Better than it was," Newkirk considered, remembering once again an intense pain that burned like fire.

"But still not all that good," Wilson finished, "Here LeBeau, help me sit him up."

Newkirk's protests were ignored, and the other two placed their hands on him to help push him back. But as soon as his center of gravity shifted, the balance in his stomach and head shifted as well. With a sudden rush, his stomach turned over and emptied itself. Wilson had only seconds to place a bucket underneath his mouth as the alcohol left Newkirk's system, followed by several dry heaves.

"Bloody 'ell," Newkirk said, wincing, "Was I drinking while I slept?"

"We gave you whisky for a painkiller," replied Wilson, setting the bucket aside, "I'd hoped you'd have slept it off, but drinking it on an empty stomach didn't do you any favours. Think you can swallow the aspirin? That'll help with the headache."

Newkirk nodded, and pushed himself the rest of the way up. He swallowed the pills, but didn't lie back down right away. He needed to know what was going on. This whole situation had come about from holes in his memory, and he was sick of not knowing what was happening to him. There was very little he could remember from what was apparently the night before. He remembered getting shot, blacking out, and then abruptly reawakening in the tunnel. Seeing his friends again, men that he believed had turned their backs on him, and then seeing Hogan. Hogan had left, perhaps unwilling to face the man who had saved his life, but who he would have to get rid of later. Newkirk looked at the others, who seemed to be waiting for him to say something. But he couldn't bring himself to ask what they were going to do with him, and settled for focusing on what he had heard earlier.

"Why did you need to get penicillin?"

LeBeau and Wilson looked startled; they hadn't realized he had been listening.

"I thought you might have developed an infection," Wilson answered, "So far there's no fever, but I didn't want to take any chances, especially in you condition."

"And what exactly is my condition?"

Wilson smiled.

"From what I can tell, you'll be making a full recovery. The bone in your arm set nicely, and it doesn't appear that the bullet wound has done any permanent internal damage. Once it heals a bit more, I'll give you some exercises to do and you shouldn't lose any mobility in your shoulder. Other than that, you're just in serious need of some of Louis' finest."

"Oh joy," Newkirk made a face, his stomach feeling even queasier.

At this point LeBeau was ready to forgive Newkirk just about anything, but he managed to look offended anyway.

"Just for that I am going to cook you a five course meal and you are going to eat every bit!" he said indignantly.

"I suppose I will," Newkirk answered wryly. Then he inhaled deeply and bit the proverbial bullet, "So then what? Food, exercises. Then?"

The other two exchanged confused glances.

"What do you mean _mon ami_?" LeBeau asked, "You will be better, and after you fully recover we will blow up a bridge to celebrate!"

"You mean I'm," Newkirk cleared his throat, confused and nervous, "I'm staying 'ere?"

"Of course you are!" LeBeau exclaimed, "Where did you think you would be going?"

Newkirk shrugged, unable to bring himself to say it. But LeBeau recalled how his friend had acted when the others came to rescue them, and suddenly understood.

"Kinch got a message from the Underground," he said, trying to reassure the Englishman who was clearly bothered but trying not to show it, "While we were gone. Those Gestapo pigs had a plant in the fliers we processed a few weeks ago. It was the plant who passed on the information. When _le Colonel_ and Carter returned to camp, Kinch passed on the message and all three of them turned around and came to get us. Both of us."

LeBeau could see that Newkirk's natural pessimism was struggling with his desire to believe this. At that moment he felt the depth of Newkirk's hurt. His friend had been betrayed, and in the worst way.

"Pierre," he spoke softly, "You are innocent. We all believe it. Including Colonel Hogan."

Their eyes met for a moment, and then Newkirk nodded slowly. LeBeau nodded in return before abruptly standing up.

"I think I will go start on that dinner I promised you," he smiled, "I expect that Kinch will be down here soon."

"Thanks Louis," Newkirk replied, watching as LeBeau disappeared upstairs.

As soon as they heard the trap door shut behind the Frenchman, Wilson started fussing.

"Let's have a look at that bandage then shall we?" he asked but didn't wait for an answer, starting to unwrap Newkirk's shoulder.

Despite Wilson's best efforts, Newkirk still felt his injury pull.

"Leave off will ya Wilson," he moaned, trying to lean away from the medic.

"No can do buddy," Wilson answered back, "Besides, I'd have thought you'd want to get this over with before the peanut gallery arrives."

After considering this for a moment, Newkirk let Wilson pull off the last but of bandage without a complaint. In only a few minutes Wilson had the wound dressed and bandaged.

"There we go," Wilson said as he finished, washing his hands, "How's it feeling? Aspirin kick in ok?"

"Think so," Newkirk replied, "Doesn't 'urt so bad anyways."

The trapdoor opened just then, with the usual clattering noise followed by the sound of footsteps. Kinch appeared from around the corner and grinned broadly when he saw that Newkirk was awake.

"Hey Newkirk! How're ya feeling?"

"All right Kinch," Newkirk said as he smiled back.

Looking up from his position on the cot, Newkirk looked at Kinch and remembered bits and pieces of the night before. He remembered Kinch's strong hands pushing down hard on his chest, holding him down while he flailed against the pain. Feeling his arms pinned down uselessly, and driving his knee upwards just before he blacked out. That was the last thing he remembered before waking up just now. Suddenly he noticed the raw scrape along Kinch's jaw. Newkirk's smile slid off his face.

"Kinch...your jaw..."

"What, this?" Kinch pointed to the scrape, "I've had worse falling out of bed."

"Sorry mate," said Newkirk, appalled that he had struck his friend.

"Don't worry about it Peter," Kinch waved off his apology, "It's barely even a scratch. The one and only time you'll ever be able to hit me, hey?"

Kinch was grinning, and Newkirk couldn't help but smile back. The American sergeant had been a Golden Gloves boxer before the war, and the chances of anyone in camp even laying a hand on him were pretty slim. Newkirk, among others, had learned that lesson the hard way when Kinch had first arrived at the Stalag.

"One and only?" laughed Newkirk, "I'm insulted Kinch."

"You'll be alright," Kinch laughed back, and then suddenly his voice became more serious, "You always bounce back, don't you?"

Their eyes met, and Newkirk nodded slowly.

"Yeah Kinch, guess I do. And why teach an old dog new tricks hey?"

"Good," Kinch stated firmly, "Good."

They were both silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then Kinch straightened up.

"Well, I'd better check the radio," Kinch said, turning towards the radio room.

Startled by the sudden departure, Newkirk didn't say anything at first. And he didn't get the chance, for Kinch suddenly spun around to face him again.

"I'm sorry Peter," Kinch blurted out, "I thought you'd done it. Maybe only for a moment, but I thought it. And I am so, so sorry."

It took Newkirk a moment to process this, and gain his bearings again. But he knew what he was going to say.

"I don't blame you," he replied softly, "And to be perfectly 'onest, I probably would 'ave felt the same way. I know 'ow it looked."

Newkirk sighed, running his good hand through his hair.

"I'm not really sure 'ow I feel about all this right now," he continued, shifting uncomfortably as he spoke, "Right now I can't really make sense of much 'sides the pain in me arm. But I do know that you 'ave the least to be sorry for mate."

"I'm not sure about that," Kinch said after a moment, unsure of how to respond to the sudden flow of emotion from Newkirk. The English corporal usually kept his feelings bottled up tight, but something about the last few days seemed to have changed that a little.

"Well I am," Newkirk stated, and then his voice dropped to a whisper that Kinch could barely hear, "Only one who didn't run out anyways."

Kinch pretended that he hadn't heard. He knew Newkirk was dealing with a world of hurt right now, only some of it physical. But he also knew that Newkirk would not appreciate him nosing around, and wisely kept his mouth shut about that whisper.

"I'm still sorry," he said instead.

"I appreciate that mate. Umm, apology accepted? That what I'm s'posed to say?"

Walking back over to the cot, Kinch held out his hand. Newkirk reached out his own and shook it gladly.

"So did you actually 'ave to check the radio?" Newkirk asked as both men loosened their grip.

"Oh, yikes!" Kinch jumped up, remembering suddenly, "There's a message due from London right away, and the Colonel will be here any second to get it."

At the mention of Hogan, Newkirk's eyes shuttered. From what he remembered of last night, the Colonel had been avoiding him. Sooner or later though, the Colonel would have to see him. And it looked like it was going to be sooner.

Kinch took off for the radio, leaving Newkirk alone with his thoughts. Wilson had slipped out some time ago to give the two some privacy. But now Newkirk just felt lonely and apprehensive. What would he say to Hogan? What could he say to his trusted CO, one of the few officers he actually respected, after that same man left him at the mercy of the Gestapo?


	19. Chapter 19

_Note: Sorry for the wait, but here you have it. Only one chapter left!_

The ever roving searchlight continued on its path, passing over barracks, trees, barbed wire, even a tree stump. The guards in the towers kept watchful eyes on the movements inside the camp, looking for any sign of trouble or possible escape. What neither guards nor searchlight managed to see was the black clad figure gradually moving closer and closer to the camp. The figure moved with youthful vigour, uninhibited by the package it carried. Suddenly the figure dropped out of sight, just in time as the light passed its way. When the light moved on, the figure leapt up once more. It crept closer, moving slower now. Then it paused, appearing to tug on the tree stump that it hid behind. And the stump responded, opening up to reveal the tunnel within. With one last fleeting glance at the guard towers, the figure slipped in to the tree stump and pulled the top closed behind it.

Carter dropped to the tunnel floor, skipping the last few rungs of the ladder. He carried the package under his arm, jogging lightly away from the emergency exit. Entering the main room, he could see Kinch at the radio, listening carefully to an incoming message. He turned into a smaller room, and Newkirk was sitting up on the cot sipping soup from a bowl in LeBeau's hands. Before they realized Carter was there, LeBeau pulled the bowl away. The Frenchman glanced inside the bowl, chuckling.

"I will bring you more," he said, "You don't seem to mind my cooking now Pierre."

"Just make sure its steaming 'ot again," Newkirk replied sarcastically, "When my tongue is numb it dulls the taste."

LeBeau just smiled. His cooking had proved its worth when Newkirk had been hungrily shovelling it into his mouth.

"Hey guys!" Carter made his presence known, "How you doing Newkirk?"

"M'all right Andrew," Newkirk replied, smiling at Carter, "You run into any trouble?"

"Nope. Looks like Klink finally gave up and pulled in the patrols."

"I can't believe 'e gave up on me so easily," Newkirk laughed, "Doesn't 'e know I consider 'im a father figure?"

"Not yet," Carter said, "But I'm sure Colonel Hogan will tell him!"

All three men chuckled slightly. Then LeBeau stood, with a hand on Newkirk's shoulder.

"I will go make you some more soup," he said, "And I will send Wilson down to give you the penicillin."

Newkirk nodded to the first, and winced at the second. He wasn't afraid of needles, but he didn't particularly like them either.

As soon as LeBeau left, Carter started talking. And he didn't show any signs of stopping.

"Does your arm still hurt? I still can't believe you got shot in the same arm that you already broke. I mean, what are the odds of that? My Uncle Sam was shot with an arrow in his leg at the same time he fell off his horse and dislocated his shoulder. But I guess that's not really the same thing, because the reason he hurt his shoulder was the arrow, but for you it happened at totally different times. Because the Gestapo broke your arm a while ago, but you only got shot when..."

Right before Newkirk was going to interrupt Carter's rambling, he actually trailed off all by himself. For a moment neither spoke, both uncomfortable with the sudden turn Carter's ramblings had taken. Then Carter spoke softly.

"I'm really, really sorry Peter. I have no idea what I was thinking. I messed up bad, and you ended up hurt because of it. I-I don't really know what I can say."

"Andrew," Newkirk said, after he got over the shock of Carter being speechless, "What you said is just fine. Thanks. But I'll tell you what I told Louis and Kinch. I don't blame you. You think I don't know 'ow it looked? It wasn't your fault, it was the krauts. It was that ruddy Gestapo captain."

"But-"

"No buts. I've been thinking about this 'ole thing a little bit. It was a 'orrible, big, ugly mess, but we are still going to 'ave an operation to run 'ere. Which means that we are gonna 'ave to find some way to all trust each other again. So I forgive you."

Carter had to ponder this for a moment.

"But that's not right," he said, "You shouldn't forgive somebody because you think you have to. You should forgive them because you want to. So I can't accept your forgiveness yet. I have to earn it."

Newkirk was shocked into silence. He didn't know what to say to that. When he had pictured Carter's reaction, he had seen gratefulness, and happiness that this ordeal would be over so easily. But apparently Carter would rather prolong it all for the sake of his own peace of mind.

"Carter we can't just 'old everything up until you feel better," Newkirk said a little testily, "We 'ave a job to do."

"You won't have to hold up anything!" Carter exclaimed, "I know I trust you. But you just saying that you trust me isn't going to make you trust me again. I don't want to feel better. I want you to feel better. And you're not going to be able to do that unless you actually work through this thing. I have no idea what you've gone through Peter, but you can't just bury it inside you, not this time."

After a moment, Newkirk shook his head silently. Sometimes, he reflected, Carter wasn't as dense as he seemed.

"Ruddy 'ell Andrew," he said softly, "When did you become a bleeding psychologist?"

"I just want to make things right," Carter stated determinedly.

Newkirk looked at the younger sergeant for a long moment before nodding.

"Well alright then. We'll work on it shall we?"

"Ok!" Carter nodded vigorously.

The sound of the trapdoor clattering interrupted the conversation, and Newkirk and Carter looked up to see Wilson climbing down the ladder. His med kit was in his hand, and Carter suddenly remembered the package in his hands.

"Heard you had some penicillin for me Carter?"

"Right here," Carter answered as he handed it over.

"Good, good," Wilson spoke to himself as he pulled a clean syringe from his med kit, "Might as well get this over with then."

The other two men looked at the instrument apprehensively. Wilson prepared the syringe and moved closer to Newkirk, who instinctively flinched away.

"Aw, come on," grinned Wilson, "Don't tell me you jump in front of bullets but you're scared of a little ole needle?"

Newkirk scowled and inched closer, allowing Wilson to perform the injection. Carter looked away as Wilson pushed down on the plunger; he had never been keen on needles either.

"Well that's that," Wilson said as he packed away his kit, "Should be right as rain in a year or two eh?"

"Humph," Newkirk pulled his sleeve down again, frowning slightly.

"I think I'll go catch some shut eye then," yawned Wilson, "You'll be alright for a while?"

"I think I'll survive."

"Mmmm," replied Wilson as he turned towards the ladder.

"Hey Wilson?"

The medic looked back over his shoulder.

"Thanks."

Wilson smiled.

"All part of the job description," he said before turning back to the tunnel exit. Before he could go up the ladder however, he had to squeeze against the wall for someone else to pass by.

"Sorry Colonel."

"No worries."

Carter and Newkirk looked up at Wilson's words, and saw Hogan standing there looking back at them. Wilson scurried up the ladder, and the disguised tunnel entrance slid shut behind him. All three of the men stood stock still for a moment; the tension in the air was palpable. Hogan and Newkirk locked eyes, but kept their emotions contained with blank, empty expressions that betrayed nothing.

It was Carter who broke the silence, clearing his throat nervously before announcing his intentions to "go see if Kinch needs any help."

This woke both Hogan and Newkirk from their almost stunned trance. The two men still looked at each other with plain nervousness. Neither knew what to say, but both knew that something had to be said. Both were usually quite private, which wouldn't help things along in the slightest.

Finally Hogan cleared his throat.

"So...How're you feeling?"

Newkirk broke eye contact, glancing down at his battered body.

"Better."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Silence fell once more. Newkirk tried to think of a way to break it, but every thought he'd had about this moment, every possible outcome, every contingency plan, had just flown out the window. There hadn't been many times in his life that he had been at a loss for words. Not that he was a chatterbox like Carter, but if he had something to say, he said it. And yet he couldn't think of a single thing to say to Hogan.

"Well," Hogan said after a long moment, "I guess I should start."

Newkirk glanced upwards, but didn't maintain eye contact.

"I'm sorry Newkirk. I'm your CO. I'm supposed to be responsible not only for your actions, but also for keeping you as safe as possible. I can't even begin to comprehend how badly I failed at that. I was frustrated, and angry, and-"

Hogan had to pause, and visibly steel himself before continuing.

"And I was scared. I couldn't see a way out. I doubted myself, and I panicked. I shouldn't have let my emotions get the better of me, and worse than that you shouldn't have gotten hurt because of it. But you did, and I am so, so sorry."

Hogan paused to take a deep breath, and Newkirk finally met his eyes.

"And then, after all that I did, you took a bullet for me. And I cannot understand why. I betrayed your trust, I said awful things. Not that I'm not grateful, of course! But I didn't deserve it, not from you."

"You'd 'ave done the same for me Guv'," Newkirk answered quietly.

"Yeah," Hogan nodded slowly, "Yeah I would've."

Hogan sighed, pulling off his cap and running his hand through his hair.

"I know it won't be easy," he continued, "But do you think you'll ever be able to trust me again?"

Newkirk blinked and had to take a moment to respond. Eventually he looked straight at Hogan, and he spoke with the strong conviction of a stubborn man who has made up his mind and is not about to change it.

"I already do Guv'."

Hogan cast a doubtful glance back at him in response.

"I 'eard what you said, and I understand," Newkirk explained, "But more importantly, you came back. You came back and you threw yourself in 'arm's way. It means a lot."

Seeing that Hogan still didn't look convinced, Newkirk did the only thing he could think of. He stuck his good arm out towards Hogan.

"Come on Guv'. Forgive and forget. I mean it."

Their eyes met for a moment, and then Hogan nodded and grasped Newkirk's hand with his own. They were shaking hands when Kinch came around the corner and cleared his throat. The other two turned to look at him.

"Message from the underground Colonel. It's about the Gestapo Captain."


	20. Chapter 20

"What is it Kinch?" Hogan asked, focussing his full attention on the radio man.

"Well, the underground managed to take out Gestapo HQ like we asked, but it's brought a lot of heat down on them. There are patrols everywhere, and they can't get the Captain to the pickup point."

"So what do they want us to do about it?"

Kinch sent a fleeting glance in Newkirk's direction before he answered.

"They want to send him here. Until the heat dies down."

"Of course," Hogan said exasperatedly, "There's nowhere else he can go? No, it's the same old thing. They'll never look for him in a POW camp. Send a reply, then you and Carter go out and meet them."

Kinch nodded before heading back to the radio. Meanwhile, Hogan turned to Newkirk.

"Sorry about this," Hogan turned to Newkirk.

"Doesn't worry me none Guv'. I'd like to take the bugger down a few notches before 'e ships off anyways."

"Just remember that he needs to be in one piece when we send him to the sub alright?" chuckled Hogan.

"I'll try to keep that in mind Guv'nor."

"Although I'll probably be obliged to look the other way if you don't try that hard," Hogan said with a wry smile.

Newkirk started to laugh, but cut himself off when he yawned involuntarily.

"Get some sleep," Hogan ordered, "They won't meet the underground for at least another hour, so you can rest up for now and beat him senseless later."

"Sounds good Guv'," Newkirk replied sleepily as he lowered himself back down onto the cot, "I'll 'old you to it."

He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.

For a moment Hogan stood there, soaking in the events of the last few minutes. His exchange with Newkirk had not been at all what he had expected. He had been frightened of the Englishman's reaction, and he was ashamed to admit it, even to himself. But he had forced himself to face up to what he had done. And Newkirk's response to his apology had been shocking. Not for the first time, Hogan was amazed at the quality of the men in his command. After everything that had happened, Newkirk forgave him, and without a second thought. And Hogan knew that that was it. Newkirk considered the matter closed, and would continue on as if it had never happened. Hogan just hoped he could do the same.

He made his way over to the radio room, pausing when he met LeBeau, who had returned with more soup. The Frenchman didn't seem too disappointed when Hogan told him that Newkirk was sleeping, and that the soup he had brought would have to wait. Instead, he followed Hogan through the tunnel to find Kinch and Carter chatting lightly by the wireless.

"Hey Colonel," Carter grinned, "Hey LeBeau. Mhmm, can I have some of that soup? It smells great!"

"Here," LeBeau handed him the bowl, "I have more upstairs."

"Eat fast Carter," Kinch told him, "We have to meet the underground right away."

Hogan and Kinch exchanged glances.

"He's right," Hogan ordered, "I want you guys to get there and back as fast as possible. We're running out of moonlight and I want to have a chat with this guy before roll call."

Carter slurped up the rest of the soup, and he and Kinch left the room, heading out into the night.

88888888

Knock, knock, knock.

He groaned. What was that noise? Couldn't he sleep just a little bit longer? He was so tired...

Knock, knock, knock.

Fine, he thought, I'll get up. If you insist.

Hogan raised his head, pulling himself from sleep slowly but surely. He blinked heavily, expecting to see the familiar walls of his quarters. Instead he found himself in the main room of the barracks, and realized that he had fallen asleep at the table. His jaw stretched as he yawned, moving towards the source of the noise. He crept around LeBeau, who had sprawled himself across the opposite bench.

The knocking from the bunk became faster, but Hogan paused to compose himself before he opened it. If the man below was who he thought it was, he wanted his wits about him before he went down. After a moment, he triggered the bunk's hidden mechanism and peered down. Kinch looked back at him, his eyes serious.

"He's down here Colonel," the radioman said in a dark tone.

Hogan nodded in response, and climbed down the ladder. It was time to give this Gestapo bastard a piece of his mind.

As he reached the bottom, both he and Kinch became aware of raised voices somewhere in the tunnel. They exchanged looks before they both ran towards the source of the noise. Hogan just hoped that Newkirk remembered what he had said about leaving the man in one piece.

The voices seemed to be coming from somewhere near the emergency exit, and both men increased their pace. As they ran, they passed the room where Newkirk's cot was, and movement in his peripheral vision caught Hogan's attention. He stopped in his tracks, ready for anything. Kinch stopped further down the tunnel, unable to see why Hogan had stopped.

The room had been left in darkness to help Newkirk sleep, and Hogan squinted to try and see what had caught his eye. He saw the movement again, and tensed when he heard a voice coming from within.

"Bloody 'ell," the voice said sleepily, "Can't you tell 'em to keep it down out there? Some of us are trying to ruddy sleep..."

"Newkirk?" Hogan said, shocked.

"It's not 'Erman Goering," the tired corporal said as he appeared out of the darkness, injured arm held tight against his body.

"If you're here," Kinch pondered, "Then that must be..."

Hogan nodded in agreement, and they both took off once again, leaving Newkirk to yell after them in confusion. But they didn't have time to wait, the Gestapo Captain must have gotten the jump on Carter and was trying to escape. The voices stopped suddenly, and Hogan's sense of panic heightened. He skidded around the corner, and stopped in his tracks.

The Captain was lying on the tunnel floor, moaning as he clutched his face. Hogan couldn't tell for sure, but it looked as though his nose was bleeding profusely.

Carter stood looking down at the disgraced Captain, fist still raised slightly. He hadn't noticed Hogan or Kinch yet, but the Colonel could see the look of shock growing on his face. Hogan could feel the same emotion beginning to show on his own face.

Before Hogan or Kinch could say a word, Carter turned away from the Captain and spotted them standing there. His expression froze on his face, trying to come to terms with the implications of what he had done.

"Colonel I...he just...he said things...I couldn't...I'm sorry."

Hogan met Carter's confused and searching eyes. He sighed heavily.

"Kinch," Hogan nodded towards the Gestapo Captain, "Get him out of here."

Kinch nodded and grabbed Franz roughly by the arm. The man moaned, clutching his face, but Kinch ignored his complaints as he practically dragged him away.

Once Franz was out of sight, Hogan moved to stand next to Carter. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Carter sighed, hanging his head.

"I really am sorry Colonel."

"I know Carter. I understand. I'm sure any of us would have done the same thing."

Carter was quiet for a moment, but Hogan let him think.

"He said Newkirk was lying," Carter said slowly, "He called him a traitor and said that he tricked us. He said Newkirk was just playing on our sympathies, and that we were stupid for falling for it and bringing him back here."

Hogan stiffened as Carter spoke. The anger that he had been suppressing rose again as he listened to the lies that the Gestapo captain had been spouting. His hand tightened on Carter's shoulder, and the sergeant winced.

"C'mon Carter," Hogan said darkly, "It appears that this captain isn't getting the message. I think we should set him straight."

Barely noticing that Carter was following, Hogan set off down the tunnel. He found Franz sitting on the tunnel floor facing a stony faced Kinch and a barely contained LeBeau. Hogan counted himself lucky that Newkirk hadn't found them yet as he stalked towards the captain.

"I heard the noise Colonel," LeBeau said as he approached, "You should have told me."

"I'm sorry," Hogan replied vacantly, his eyes fixed on the filth that was contaminating his tunnel.

He marched straight across the tunnel until he was towering over Franz. The Gestapo man looked up at him insolently, still holding his bloodied nose. Hogan glared at him for a moment. Then he reached down, grabbed Franz by the collar and pushed him back against the wall. His lip curled in disgust, the man was covered in blood and his eyes had gone wide with fear.

"I hear," Hogan said through clenched teeth, "That you have been attempting to spread more of your lies. Is that true?"

Franz simply glared back at him. Hogan leaned closer, pressing his hand tighter on the man's throat. The captain's eyes widened even further from the pain.

"I said, is that true?" Hogan repeated in a low, dangerous tone.

This time Franz nodded tightly, slowly. Hogan relaxed his grip slightly before continuing.

"Now you listen close. I am sick and tired of hearing you slandering the name of one of the best, most loyal men in the Allied forces. If I wasn't an officer and a gentleman, and if I didn't know that you will be spending the rest of your miserable life rotting in a jail cell, I swear on my life that you would never see the light of day again."

Hogan paused to let this sink in, and Franz could see in Hogan's eyes that the man was completely serious.

"You've caused more hurt in the past few days than I would have believed possible," Hogan continued, "And I'll admit, some of it was my fault. I should never have let you convince me that Newkirk would betray us. But I'll tell you this right now."

Again, Hogan paused his monologue, this time to take a deep breath before staring Franz right in the eyes and speaking with a conviction in his voice that the others had rarely heard.

"I will never believe it again. Newkirk is my man. My man."

Hogan held the other man's gaze for a moment before abruptly dropping him to the floor. He turned slowly to face his men, and the first face he saw was Newkirk's.

The Englishman stared straight at him before nodding slightly. Then a slow grin spread across his face. He walked slowly over towards the defeated Captain, and slowly and carefully kneeled down in front of him. For a moment they stared at each other. Newkirk's grin widened even further.

"Well," Newkirk said, leaning back but still maintaining eye contact, "There you go. Is that good enough for you Fritz?"

Franz glared back sullenly, but refused to say a word.

"Let's get 'im out of 'ere Colonel," Newkirk spoke as he stood up, "I think 'e's done 'ere."

Hogan nodded. Yes, he was done here.

88888888

Hogan walked out of his office and sniffed the air. Something sizzled on the stove, and LeBeau was tending it carefully. When Hogan looked closer though, he could see the look of distaste on the Frenchman's face. Which was odd, because whatever he was cooking actually smelled quite good. He walked over, and saw something very different on the stove.

"LeBeau," Hogan began to ask, "Is that-"

"Oui," LeBeau answered shortly, "Bangers and mash. Or as close as I could get."

Hogan grinned. When Newkirk had appeared at the gates, Klink had insisted that he spend time in the cooler. After some careful manipulations and a lot of tongue biting by Hogan, he had reduced the sentence to ten days. Today would be Newkirk's first day back in the barracks, and the men were all excited for things to be back to normal. Although "normal" did not usually include LeBeau cooking bangers and mash.

At that moment the door swung open, and Newkirk strode in followed by Schultz, who was working hard to keep a smile from his face. Newkirk had no such inhibitions, and grinned openly as he was greeted by his barracks mates. For the next hour the men gathered around the table, chatting about everything from LeBeau's ability to cook English food to whether or not Schultz ate too much of it. When the celebrations finally began to wind down, Hogan called his core team into the office.

"Alright men," Hogan began, grinning to see all four of his men in the room once again, "London's got a mission for us. We have to meet an agent in the Hofbrau, at the same time as we meet another agent out at Horst's barn. The agent at the Hofbrau is a defector and will be giving us information on a factory in exchange for passage to England. The other agent will be organizing an attack on the factory as soon as someone brings the information."

The group sat in silence for a moment, letting it sink in.

"Sounds complicated sir," Carter broke the quiet.

"That it is Carter. Which is why I'm sending Newkirk."

The Englishman's head jerked up.

"Me sir?"

"Yes you. If I know one thing Newkirk, it's that I will never send you on a simple mission again."

The group laughed, except for Newkirk. The corporal rolled his eyes and shook his head. Things were back to normal.

_Note: Well, that's all folks! Hope you enjoyed =)_


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